


Miles, Magic, and Mayhem

by Assassin_J



Category: Assassin's Creed, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Community: asscreedkinkmeme, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Desmond Lives, Dimension Travel, Fight Scenes, Game Dialogue, Gen, Illustrated with Game Screenshots, Magic, Motherfucking Dragons, Post-Assassin's Creed III, Prompt Fic, Redguard OC, Title Changed, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_J/pseuds/Assassin_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond Miles expected to die.</p><p>He didn't expect to wake up in a horse-drawn cart headed for execution.</p><p>
  <em>I must've passed out again, and they stuck me back in the Animus as usual.</em>
</p><p>But the Animus has a few bugs, it seems. He can't get to the menu or turn on the map.</p><p>Also there's dragons.</p><hr/><p>Previously titled <em>Voiped to Nirn</em>. Shout out to <a href="http://www.baenebooks.com/p-279-miles-mystery-and-mayhem.aspx">Lois McMaster<strike>s</strike> Bujold</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End and The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> [Kinkmeme prompt:](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=12246382#cmt12246382) "You know what? Screw AC4. Desmond is not dead. I’m going to start a new Skyrim game and see if I can make one Desmond Miles.  
>  But I started to think, what if, if at the end of AC3, instead of dying Desmond somehow got transported elsewhere… and woke up on a cart headed to execution. It would help explain why you have to option of making your character ask questions about everything in the game, some of which they really should know having grown up in that world. Desmond really wouldn’t know anything about this strange place he has found himself, dragons and all.  
> And this way, Desmond gets to save a world (a few more times) and still be around at the end.  
> And I like the idea of him doing his free running around Skyrim, through the old ruins and such. Pity I wont be able to make him do that in the actual game.  
> Anyway, can anyone think up some stories about poor confused Dimension traveller Desmond Miles, reluctant Dragonborn in a world he doesn’t know, might get up to?"

Through the blaring light that pierced his ineffectual eyelids, and the swirling pulses of energy that whipped at his body like a fierce wind, and the burning heat that shot up his arm, a smaller stimulus also reached Desmond.

 

He swore he distinctly heard a short sound. Something like "voip".

 

Yes, "voip". Something had gone "voip". A few of his neurons vaguely wondered what process exactly had produced the "voip", but they were drowned out by the 99.98% remaining neurons that were ragingly lamenting his painful fate.

 

After the "voip", all the pain and the smell of burning flesh fell away. Desmond supposed this, then, was what it felt like to die.

 

However, he still felt the steady rhythmic thrumming of the power coursing through the ancient place.

 

The burning heat from the Eye had gone. And now there was a cold wind.

 

A **very** cold wind. Desmond began to shiver. He wished he'd just hurry the fuck up and die already.

 

Then someone was shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, stranger." His eyes fluttered open cautiously. "Wouldn't do for you to fall asleep and freeze to death before we're even to Helgen."

 

That rhythmic thrumming he'd felt coursing through the Grand Temple was now the steady movement of a rickety wooden cart. _What the fuck?_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited 12-29-14
> 
> the chapter title is from [Juno's rant](https://soundcloud.com/allsoundsasscreed/the-cross-darkens-the-horizon)


	2. Technical Difficulties

_What the fuck?_

Desmond had no idea what the hell was happening, nor where he was.

Well, he had **some** idea where he was: in a horse-drawn carriage, being carted along a rural path in a wintry forest. Other than that, he was absolutely lost. He tried bringing up the map, but it was in vain. Either this was one of those memories where the map wasn't available, or he wasn't in an Animus at all. Which would mean this was real life. 

But this couldn't be real life, because everyone was dressed in ragged leather, iron chainmail, and the like. This was obviously some memory from Altaïr's time period, though obviously not Altaïr's geographic region.

A burly man with long blonde braids noticed Desmond looking around and addressed him. "Hey, you. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." He gestured to a dirty-faced man in a ratty sleeveless shirt and torn pants.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief growled. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell." He turned to Desmond. "You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here."

The blonde spoke again. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." He then looked back at Desmond, sizing him up. "You're an Imperial, right? How'd you fall in with Stormcloak?"

Desmond had no idea what the fuck an Imperial or a Stormcloak was, and it seemed that his ancestor didn't either, for when Desmond had him respond with "What?" he felt no dip in his synchronization level.

"Hm? You're not?" The blonde squinted at him. "But you've got that classic stonking Imperial nose."

The thief spoke up again. "You can't judge by the nose alone! I've seen bigger noses on Bretons and Nords!"

The armored man driving their carriage raised his voice in anger. "Shut up back there! Or I'll have you all gagged like the murderer!"

"Watch your tongue!" the blonde snarled, and gestured to the gagged man, who Desmond noticed was dressed a little too nicely compared with the rest of the cart's occupants. "That's no murderer! That's Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The thief's voice rose in panic as he addressed the gagged man. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"Helgen, isn't it? From the direction we're heading," put in another man, dark and dreadlocked, the one who'd woken Desmond earlier. "Though I could be wrong."

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," answered the stoic blonde.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!" The thief began to break down in tears. "I don't want to die! Not like this!"

Desmond wasn't worried about dying. _'Course this guy is gonna escape somehow. He's had to have escaped in order for him to have sex and pass on his DNA. The worst that'll happen to me is desynching._

He tried to block out the inane dialogue from the other prisoners, tried to recall the events of the modern day, to remember how he'd gotten back in the Animus.

_I remember... I was activating the Eye in the Grand Temple... and then... then I woke up here... Shit. I must've passed out again, and they stuck me back in the Animus as usual. Well, at least I'm not dead. I've got that much going for me. But I really don't wanna be in here any longer than necessary. Fuckin' Bleeding Effect's screwed me up enough already._

He tilted his head skyward. "Rebecca? Shaun? Dad?"

"What's wrong with you?" the thief asked, wiping his eyes.

"I want out, guys! Can you get me out?"

"It's no use, brother." The blonde patted Desmond's shoulder, or rather, the shoulder of whomever he was reliving. "Your friends have surely long deserted you now. Call on the gods themselves if you wish, but if it is written that you shall die today, then prayers cannot change that fate."

Desmond was perplexed. Making the ancestor call out for Rebecca, Shaun, and William was surely not in accordance with history. _So why didn't I desynchronize? They must've done some system upgrade that lets me get away with stretching events a little further from what the DNA recorded. And the upgrade somehow fucked up and took away my HUD, so I don't have a map or SSI or anything. Great work, Rebecca, just great._ He tried to at least open the database to find out who he was supposed to be, but he discovered he couldn't get to the Animus menu at all!

"Seriously, I need help, guys!" he yelled into the sky. "I can't exit! The menu's gone!"

All this accomplished was making the other prisoners look at him like he was crazy, and making the driver tell them to shut up again.

_Shit, can they not hear me? Is the fucking monitoring system shut down again? Do I have to find another stupid synch nexus to get outta here? But then why would I be in a new ancestor instead of Connor? And, shit, Clay's not here this time. I might get deleted by that stupid failsafe. Shit shit shit._

Engrossed in these thoughts, Desmond hadn't noticed the halting of the carriage and the exiting of the other passengers. Now there was another soldier, who reached out and angrily tugged at his arm to pull him off the cart. Desmond found himself falling forward onto the dirt. The soldier made a growl of annoyance at this, and yanked him back to his feet.

Filing along with the other prisoners toward whatever fate awaited them, Desmond wiped dirt from his face with the backs of his bound hands. As he did so, he thought he felt something familiar, and then ran a finger along the ancestor's lips to confirm it. _Huh, this guy's got the same scar as Altaïr, Ezio, and me. But Connor and Haytham didn't. What does the scar mean? Does it mean anything? Is it just a hell of a coincidence?_

It was at that point that Desmond noticed something that sent confusion and chills up his spine.

The left arm of the thin and dirty garment his ancestor was wearing had been torn in the struggle with the guard and the ensuing fall. Underneath the threadbare cloth was a tattoo.

An awfully familiar tattoo.

 _What the fuck?_ Wrists still bound, he turned his arms to get a better look at it. _This ancestor has the exact same tattoo as me! That's way too freakishly specific to be a coincidence! How the hell... Is this some kinda... reverse Bleeding Effect? Somehow my ancestor thinks that he's me? Is that even possible?_

Desmond's thoughts were interrupted by the booming voice of a swordswoman clad in steel and leather. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."

The blonde man leaned toward Desmond and muttered, "Empire loves their damn lists."

Another soldier, in lighter armor, with a quill and notebook, called out, "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

Ignoring the roll call, Desmond returned to pondering what the hell was happening. This ancestor had his scar and tattoo. How much further did the resemblance go? He lifted his hands and felt his head. _He has my same hairstyle._ He plucked a small curl from his scalp and examined it, mouth slightly agape. _It's the same length and color as mine, too. It's almost like he's my clone. But he's a thousand years before my time, so if anything, I'd be **his** clone, wouldn't I?_

Desmond didn't even notice the arrow chunking noisily into the thief he'd spoken to earlier.

_But cloning wouldn't explain the tattoo... The only other explanation is... I've actually traveled back in time?!_

It didn't seem possible. But then again, he'd seen a lot of impossible shit these past few months. And it certainly would explain why there wasn't any Animus menu available.

"Ahem!" Desmond's eyes, glazed over in thought, refocused on the bookkeeper-soldier who had cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

 _Who am I? Shit. I suppose I'm **me**._  Still discombobulated from whatever the fuck was going on, he couldn't think of an alias, and so gave his real name. "Desmond Miles."

"Hm. You're a long way from the Imperial City." The bookkeeper turned to the swordswoman. "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list!" she barked. "He goes to the block!"

"By your orders, Captain."

Desmond began to sweat. _Shit shit shit! If this really **isn't** the Animus, then I'm **not** guaranteed to live until I procreate!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited 12-29-14


	3. My Ancestors Are Smiling At Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm are my chapters too short? Well, they'll become longer later.

_Fuck fuck fuck, how am I gonna get outta this?_ Desmond mentally flailed about as he was herded into a group of similarly helpless people, all scheduled for execution.

But at the same time, another part of his mind told him to shut up and accept his fate. He'd been prepared to die, hadn't he? He'd chosen to sacrifice himself. One life versus billions: it was a no-brainer. Maybe the Eye just had kind of a roundabout way of doing things. Maybe there was some reason it sent him back in time to get killed instead of just killing him there. Maybe somehow that's how the First Civilization had finally solved their dilemma.

_But wait, if they could time travel, why did they go through all that trouble with hiding messages in my genetic memory? Why not just pop into 2012 and say "hey here's how you stop the sun from killing everything"? Maybe only I can time travel, because I'm the fucking chosen one or whatever. Or maybe time travel only works for going backward in time, not forward. Who the fuck knows? I'm gonna be dead no matter what, so what does it matter?_

Yes, Desmond had chosen sacrifice. Nevertheless, he didn't want it to go down like this. But it seemed there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but stand and wait for inevitable death.

An imposing soldier, with a large sword at his belt- General Tullius, Desmond was told by a fellow prisoner- began addressing the gagged man. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric growled through the fabric tied around his mouth.

Tullius continued his rant. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

A low screeching howl echoed through the otherwise quiet air. Soldiers and prisoners alike lifted their heads in alarm.

"What was that?" asked the bookkeeper.

"It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius," said the Imperial Captain, turning to another woman, dressed in brown hooded robes. "Give them their last rites."

The priestess spread her arms wide and began to speak in a voice that carried clearly across the courtyard. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and lets get this over with!" griped a prisoner, stepping forward from the others.

The priestess lowered her arms, obviously miffed at her invocation's interruption. "As you wish."

"Come on, I haven't got all morning." The prisoner was shoved onto the execution block. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

Desmond squeezed his eyes shut for this next part. His stomach lurched as he heard the sickening chop of the headsman's axe. He'd seen plenty of people killed- hell, he'd even killed his fair share- but that didn't mean he was unaffected by it. And death by beheading was far more gruesome than death by poison, gun, or Hidden Blade.

"You Imperial bastards!" shrieked a woman.

"Justice!" a man called in response.

"Death to the Stormcloaks!" cried another woman.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Desmond's cartmate said, relatively unperturbed by the situation.

"Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!"

Hearing a repeat of the eerie noise from earlier, Desmond reopened his eyes. Whatever it was, it sounded louder this time.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?"

The swordswoman clearly didn't care for such distractions. "I said, next prisoner!"

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

Desmond was shoved forward. _Oh shit! I'm next already?!_ Thoughts of home, family, and friends flashed through his mind as uncaring hands escorted him roughly to the chopping block.

A foul stench invaded his nostrils, either from the stout executioner, or from his huge axe, nearly as tall as Desmond. The metal itself seemed to be red, so thoroughly was the blade covered with layers of blood and grime.

Then a foot was in his back and he was forced to his knees, and for a split second he was eye-to-eye with the severed head of that fearless prisoner who'd preceded him in death, but he couldn't bear the sight and he turned his gaze away, gears fruitlessly spinning in his brain, hoping against hope that there might still be some way to escape.

However, those gears soon slowed and halted. _This is it. No way out. I was born to die. It's in my DNA. This is my sacrifice. Even though I didn't choose this time-travel weirdness, I did choose this fate._

Everything was stillness for a brief moment.

Desmond was about to close his eyes and turn his last thoughts to his parents when another roar sounded from out of the sky and he saw a jagged dark shape against the clouds.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited 12-30-14


	4. Enter the Dragon

Desmond blinked. In the split second before his eyes reopened, the thing in the sky jumped terrifyingly closer to him.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" shouted General Tullius.

Desmond thought the word "dragon" but no, that was impossible.

"Sentries! What do you see?" the captain's strident voice demanded.

_Genetic memories, sure, mind control, yeah, time travel, maybe, with sufficiently advanced technology, but motherfucking dragons Do. Not. Exist._

"It's in the clouds!" squawked a panicky soldier.

_Motherfucking dragons **never** existed. Not in the twenty-first century, not in the twelfth century, not in **any** goddamn century!_

The thing that was not a dragon, that could not possibly be a dragon, but which really, really,  **really** looked like a motherfucking dragon, had now landed on the tower behind the chopping block. A shockwave of compressed air whooshed down, knocked the executioner on his fat ass, and blasted small pieces of dirt into Desmond's face. He coughed, and the stench of bloody death filled his mouth again.

Using that enormous axe as leverage, the executioner struggled back up, but before he could get to his feet, the impossible creature opened its massive jaws and there was another shockwave, more powerful than before. He fell backwards again, his hefty torso trapping Desmond's legs. Desmond kicked frantically to free himself from the dead weight.

"A dragon!" yelled someone, and Desmond was a tiny bit relieved to know that he wasn't the only one that had gone insane here.

"Don't just stand there, kill that thing!" commanded Tullius. "Guards-" The rest of his words were drowned out when another burst of air emanated from the maybe-it-actually-is-a-dragon's mouth.

Then someone was grabbing Desmond, pulling him out from under the dead headsman. He squinted through the maelstrom of dust and managed to recognize that blonde-braided prisoner. "Come on," he said, beckoning Desmond forward, "the gods won't give us another chance! This way!" He turned and ran across the disorderly plaza. Desmond followed breathlessly, stepping around broken bodies of prisoners and soldiers, until they were in the relative safety of another stone tower.

Two of the other prisoners were already there: the one who'd awoken Desmond in the first place, and that well-dressed man, now ungagged.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" asked the blonde in a low and frightened growl.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric responded coolly.

"But dra-" Desmond squeaked, then cleared his throat and began again, trying to keep his voice slightly more composed. "But dragons aren't real!"

The others just looked at him worriedly, silently saying, "We thought the same."

There was a loud crash from outside, like a building had just collapsed. Ulfric took the lead, telling the other three, "We need to move, now!"

The blonde nodded with determination. "Let's go! This way, friend!" He pointed behind Desmond at a spiral staircase that lined the circular tower. "Move!"

Desmond didn't need to be told twice. He jogged up the stairs two at a time, but suddenly a gout of rocky debris and flames burst not a foot in front of him. Time seemed to freeze as he fell back against the stone wall, absolutely thunderstruck by what he saw before his eyes.

There was no doubt about it. It was really a motherfucking dragon. Fire breath and all. Annihilating everything in its path.

As the flames dissipated, Desmond saw that the teeth were jet black and wickedly sharp, the tongue equally dark and devious. His heart stopped for several seconds when he saw himself reflected in the wild red orb of the dragon's left eye, and he pressed his body closer against the curved wall behind him, trying to shrink into invisibility.

After an agonizing period during which Desmond couldn't decide whether to run back down the stairs or curl into a sobbing ball on the floor, the dragon flew off to wreak havoc somewhere else for the time being. He inhaled a deep shaky breath, and a brief thought flitted through his mind about how this was yet another goddamn near-death experience he could add to his list. He continued up the stairs but was soon blocked by the debris that was the aftermath of the dragon's attack.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. It was the blonde, and he pointed with his other hand out the newly-created hole in the wall. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going! Go! We'll follow you when we can!"

Jumping. This, at least, was something Desmond was familiar with, unlike dragons and Stormcloaks and whatnot. However, he usually jumped with unbound hands, allowing him full use of his arms for balance, so it was a little trickier this time. He hopped up onto the ledge, flung himself through the smoke-filled air, rolled across splintery floorboards, and nearly busted his head on a wooden pillar. The thatched roof was on fire and perilously close to his head, so he lowered himself into a crouch and hopped down to the ground floor as soon as possible. He looked behind him, but his fellow prisoners were nowhere to be seen. _Shit, they said they'd follow me. Well, what now?_ He spun around, trying to decide which way he should go.

 _That way?_ He saw the telltale shadow of the dragon.

 _This way?_ Flames blocked the door.

 _Well, I guess that just leaves one option._ He left the inn through the only remaining exit, dodging a landslide of superheated rocks. A frightened child careened into his path and Desmond swerved to avoid him, then followed the boy, figuring he might have some idea of a safe place to go.

"Haming, get over here, now!" shouted a familar voice: the bookkeeper-soldier who'd read out the names of the condemned. Desmond and the boy ran to join him, crouching in the somewhat-shelter of a niche between two collapsed buildings.

"Hadvar, I'm scared!" the boy cried, hugging the soldier's knees.

"It's all right, Haming. Just keep out of the way, we'll protect you," Hadvar said with obviously faked certainty.

Just then Desmond felt goosebumps rising on his skin. Something made him look up just in time to see that hellish monster swooping down from the sky towards their position. "We gotta move!" he yelled to the others. "It's coming this way!"

Only then did Hadvar seem to actually notice Desmond. "Prisoner, keep close to me if you want to stay alive!" he said, sounding much more like a soldier now than a bookkeeper. He pushed Haming towards an almost-bald man who was with them. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense." He charged back into the fray.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," Gunnar said solemnly. "And you as well," he added, giving Desmond a shove. Then the old man and the boy ran off to evade the murderous sky beast.

Desmond ran after Hadvar, his feet seeming to move automatically, powered by pure fear. As they ran, he found his mind trying again to figure out what had happened, where he was, how he'd gotten there. _Maybe I really did die after all, and this is some sort of freakish afterlife. I never believed in that sorta stuff, but it's either that, or the Eye voiped me away to some alternate universe._

"It won't die! It just keeps coming!" someone shouted.

_I guess alternate universes could exist, right? Wait, no, I **know**  they exist. Minerva's what-do-you-call-'ems... Calculations. Like the universe where I'm a mechanic in Chicago, or a waiter in San Francisco._

"Stay close to the wall," advised Hadvar, indicating a massive barricade of rough-hewn bricks. "I don't think it can see us here." Desmond followed this advice.

_If this is another universe... then is there a way to get back to my own? But then again, maybe this place isn't even real. Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe I've finally lost all my marbles from that goddamned Bleeding Effect. Maybe I'm really- what was that phrase Clay used? ...drooling and chewing on my tongue._

_So... I'm in Hell, I'm in an alternate universe, or I'm insane. Pick your poison._

His train of thought was derailed by a heavy crashing sound. The midday sunlight was suddenly blocked. He felt that same eerie chill from before, and slowly tilted his head up.

Sure enough, the dragon was perched right on the very wall they were trying to hide behind. Its wingspan was easily longer than a Brooklyn subway car. Desmond called on all his stealth training, slowing his breath, willing his heart to beat quieter, keeping every muscle motionless.

An otherworldly sound rumbled deep in the body of the dragon, and half a second later, fire flowed out from its mouth, incinerating four archers who'd been firing at it. Then it flew off again before their bodies had even hit the ground.

Desmond was still gaping at the scene when Hadvar grabbed his arm and began running again. "Quickly, follow me!"

Still bound and unarmed, Desmond had pretty much no other option, so he followed Hadvar through yet more destroyed sections of the town. His feet were beginning to ache. _Wish I'd been able to bring my sneakers along to whatever this place is, instead of[these shitty worn-out leather rags](http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:SR-icon-clothing-Footwraps.png)._

They reached a wide open plaza ringed by smoky piles of flaming wood, and were greeted by an upset General Tullius. "Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier! We're leaving!"

A barrage of air knocked Desmond off his feet as the dragon swooped overhead, and he heard a raspy voice cry out, "Tell my family I fought bravely!"

"Come on, prisoner, stay close!" Hadvar pulled Desmond back up and through a stone gate, but soon stopped, staring daggers at a familiar face. "Ralof!" the soldier growled. "You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

Ralof was the stoic blonde prisoner from earlier. Now he was armed with an iron axe and looked quite imposing. Fiery reflections danced in his eyes. "We're escaping, Hadvar. And you can't stop us."

"Fine!" Hadvar barked. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

Another booming roar cascaded over them, shaking the very ground. All three men jerked their heads up to watch the dragon glide menacingly past.

"You!" Ralof said, beckoning for Desmond to follow him again. "Come on, into the keep!" Then he headed toward a sturdy stone fort.

Hadvar dissented. "No, with **me** , prisoner! Let's go!" He was standing at another door to the same building, but further away.

Wasting no time, Desmond simply rushed to the nearest door, which happened to be Ralof's. "Through here, friend! Let's go!"


	5. Ally and Enemy

The moment Desmond was inside, Ralof slammed the heavy door shut behind them. Desmond stepped forward cautiously, taking in the strange decor of the keep: a terribly uneven stone floor covered with moss and a grimy rug, a dark tapestry of black and red, a few mounted animal heads - bear, elk, and _holy shit there's a dead guy in here!_

Ralof noticed the corpse as well. He knelt down reverently to close the man's eyes. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother."

"You know this guy?" Desmond asked. In his current frazzled state of mind, he couldn't think of a more respectful way to phrase the question.

Ralof stood and turned to face Desmond proudly. "I know not his name, but, by his armor, it is clear that he and I fought for the same cause: the freedom of Skyrim."

 _Freedom from what, exactly?_ Desmond wondered, but there were more pressing issues at hand right now. "I thought we went in here to escape the dragon," he said, stumbling a little on the d-word. "But it looks like your 'brother' wasn't super safe in here."

Ralof's brows twitched. Kneeling again, he looked closer at the body. "Worry not, friend," he said in a rough tone. "It appears he was wounded in battle against an earthbound enemy, not one from the skies of Oblivion." He moved the man's arm so Desmond could see a deep gash. "That he succumbed to his injuries here rather than outside speaks not to the safety of this keep."

At this, Desmond relaxed, but only a little.

Ralof took a seat in a wooden chair near the dead man and fingered the handle of his axe. "That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends!" He didn't sound scared at all. In fact, he sounded almost excited. "The harbingers of the End Times!"

"End Times, huh," Desmond said idly, eying the wall tapestry. The red shape weaved into the black background seemed to be a dragon. He was about to ask a question about that when Ralof spoke again.

"We better get moving. Come here. Let me cut you loose from those bindings."

"Oh, cool." Desmond had almost forgotten his hands were tied. He held them out to Ralof, who produced a dagger and sawed through the rope. "Thanks."

"You probably want to get out of those prisoner clothes as well." Ralof nodded to the dead man. "You may as well take his gear. He won't be needing it anymore."

"Uh, yeah." Desmond stammered, crouching down on the floor. He hesitated a moment. This somehow felt a lot more real, a lot more wrong, than looting a corpse in the Animus ever had. And, well... Ezio and Connor had never actually taken **clothes** from a dead person. _But then again, I was just hoping for real shoes a few minutes ago, wasn't I_? He held his breath and tugged the boots from the man's stiff feet, then slipped them on himself, fighting back the thought of corpse cooties. _I'll wash 'em out real good as soon as I get the chance._

"Here, I'll help you with the armor," Ralof said.

"No thanks!" Desmond said. "I. Uh. I mean the boots are one thing, but..."

Ralof stared, waiting for the end of his sentence.

"It seems... y'know, disrespectful to leave him here naked."

"Ah," Ralof said with a hearty nod. "Of course. However, you'd do well to take his weapon, at least. No telling what we'll encounter on our way out of here. Best to stay armed."

Desmond rolled the man over and pulled the axe from his belt loop. "On our way out of here?" he repeated quizzically.

"Keeps like these usually have an escape passageway in case of siege. Should lead far away from that dragon and those Imperials. Try that door." Ralof pointed.

Desmond tried to open the wrought iron gate on one side of the room, but it was locked. Ralof found the same was true of the wooden gate on the opposite side. "Damn, no way out."

Just then, some figures appeared in the hallway past the wooden gate. "It's the Imperials!" Ralof hissed. "Take cover!"

They took up positions on either side of the doorway as armored footsteps clanked toward them. Desmond heard the Imperial Captain order her men to "Get this gate open!"

Ralof took out his axe.

A few moments later, the wooden gate slid down into the floor and three soldiers burst into the room. "Imperial dogs!" Ralof shouted, running at them mercilessly.

Desmond stayed frozen in shock. Trained fighter though he was, he still didn't want to start attacking people without knowing why.

He couldn't stay pacifist for long, though, because one of the soldiers- the most heavily armored one, just his luck- was now coming towards him. Desmond nimbly sidestepped the sword as it was thrust forward and took a firm grip on his newly-aquired axe, then swung it, blunt edge first, down on the attacker's hand.

The soldier grunted and involuntarily dropped his sword. Desmond grinned. _Disarming. Always a useful move, no matter what universe you're in._

The grin enraged the soldier, though, and he made to swing a fist at Desmond. Acting on instinct, Desmond spun the axe around and sliced into the soldier's hand, drawing blood and a cry of furious pain. The soldier kicked and Desmond didn't quite dodge out of the way in time, and a steel boot connected with his leg, tripping him backwards onto the mossy stone.

Now the soldier was the one grinning. He grabbed his sword back and was about to stab it downwards into Desmond's belly when Ralof threw a leather shield across the room. It smacked the Imperial soldier in the back and distracted him for a moment.

Just for a moment. But a moment was all Desmond needed. He got nimbly back to his feet and darted behind the soldier, then drew the keen edge of the axe across his throat. A gurgling rush of blood, and he was dead on the floor.

Desmond panted and looked to Ralof. "Thanks for the save."

"Anytime, friend." He gestured to the fallen Imperials. "Does your respect for the dead extend to these dogs as well?"

"Well... that does look like some pretty sweet armor."

"Though it is **Imperial** armor," Ralof said with a sneer, "it would at least afford better protection than your current attire. Take it, then, as a prize well earned in battle."

Desmond briefly picked over the three bodies before shucking off the itchy shirt he'd been wearing so far, slipping on a leather-and-chainmail tunic, then finishing off the ensemble with a pair of steel bracers. "Hmm, these bracers have that same dragon symbol," he said, jerking a thumb at the tapestry behind him.

Ralof greeted this observation with an odd look. "But of course."

Desmond realized he must have said something that was stupidly obvious to anyone native to this world, and bashfully stuffed his hands in the pockets of his tunic. "Oh hey." He pulled one hand out. "This guy had a key. Y'think it opens that over there?" He pointed to the metal gate.

The key did in fact open it. "That's it!" Ralof hooted eagerly. "Come on, let's get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads."

They proceeded down a wide set of stairs, gently curving in a semicircle. There was less light in this part of the keep, and Desmond blinked and squinted, trying to adjust to the relative darkness. _Hm, I wonder if..._ He flipped the mental switch to turn on his Eagle Vision. Both Ralof's aura and his own were blue. _Does that mean they have Assassins in this world, and he's one of them, or one of their allies? Or does it just mean he's a good guy in general?_

A terrifyingly familiar roar interrupted his thoughts. "Look out!" Ralof shouted, and they leapt backwards, narrowly escaping being buried under tons of stone as part of the ceiling collapsed.

"Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy."

Desmond turned off Eagle Vision, since it tended to give him a headache if he used it too long. "Give up on what? What does he even **want**?"

"Nothing but chaos and destruction, if the legends are true," Ralof said, brushing dust from his face.

Desmond was about to ask for more detail on these legends, but was startled by a gruff voice from a door to their left. "Grab everything important and let's move! The dragon is burning everything to the ground."

"Ready to fight some more Imperials?" Ralof said to Desmond, his voice a quiet rumble.

Desmond opted not to reply, and hoped he wasn't getting off to a bad start in this new universe by siding with Ralof. _He said he fought for freedom, right? Here's hoping that's true, and he's not some maniac serial killer I'm aiding and abetting._

Ralof slowly pushed the door open and they made their way inside. This room was a spacious and homey sort of place, with a dining area, a crackling fireplace, and game birds hung up alongside fragrant herbs. Desmond barely had time to remember he was hungry before he heard Ralof's yell of "Freedom or Sovngarde!", followed by clashing steel. 

_Hasn't this guy heard of sneaking up on your enemies?_ Desmond sighed and ran to join the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desmond's current gear, in case you're interested (NERD):
> 
>   * Studded Imperial Armor 
>   * Imperial Bracers 
>   * Fur Boots 
>   * Iron War Axe
> 



	6. Do You Believe In Magic?

The axe, heavier and less streamlined than the tomohawk Ratonhnhaké:ton had used, felt unwieldy in Desmond's hands, so as soon as these latest two foes were dealt with, he exchanged weapons with one of them. A sword. Yes. Swords he had far more experience with.

He held onto a small dagger as well. _I don't have my Hidden Blade, but this is about the same size, so it'll be the next best thing if I need to do any stealth kills._

"See if you can find some potions," Ralof said. "We'll need them."

"Potions?" Desmond repeated dubiously. _What is this, fucking Dungeons & Dragons? Well... there sure as hell's a dragon out there, and this sure as hell looks like a dungeon in here. Maybe this is what really happens when you die: You get voiped to RPG land._ On one of the shelves, he found a small blue bottle, and held it up to show Ralof.

"Magicka potion?" Ralof said with derision. "Do I look like a pansy magic-user to you? Here, this is what we need." He tossed Desmond a slightly larger bottle with red liquid sloshing inside.

Desmond tucked the potion away in his pocket and grabbed a hunk of bread from the table. It was cold and a little stale, but he was hungry enough that it didn't matter.

"There's more stamina and health potions in here," called Ralof, who was rummaging through a barrel. "If you're done with your snack, let's get moving."

Desmond swallowed the last fragment of bread and followed Ralof through another dimly-lit hallway. Sounds of anguish and fighting echoed towards them. They rounded a corner and Ralof gasped. "Troll's blood! It's a torture room!" He ran ahead, axe raised. "For Ulfric and Skyrim!"

A skeleton was chained to one wall, and incredibly rusty metal cages lined another. But what drew Desmond's attention most of all was the wrinkly old man fighting Ralof and a man and woman in similar armor. His attacks didn't come from weapons, but from blazing sparks of energy he was flinging at the Stormcloaks.

Unnoticed by the fighters for now, Desmond hung back and stared. _Holy fuck. Magic. He's using magic. Dragons exist here, and magic exists here too. This is one hell of an alternate universe!_

"Don't just stand there!" Ralof yelled. The magic-user spun around to see who Ralof was talking to, and raised one hand, the fingers crackling with what looked like blue lightning. Desmond froze in shock, but a second later, he experienced a literal shock as the blue lightning crackled into his body. He cried out in pain and jerked out of the path of the spell, grabbing his chest where it felt like he'd just been electrocuted. The burning sensation dissolved into numbness after a moment, and then without thinking, Desmond's hand was on his sword and he was rushing forward and slashing, slashing, slashing, until the old man lay dead on the floor.

Desmond panted heavily and rubbed his chest again until the feeling started to return.

One of the other Stormcloaks gave him an approving thump on the back. "A fine fighter, this one."

"Is Jarl Ulfric with you?" Ralof asked.

She shook her head. "No, I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up."

"Wait a second. Looks like there's some gold in this cage." Ralof tried the cage door, then turned to Desmond. "Do you know how to pick locks?"

"Yeah."

"Good, because I don't. I found some picks on one of the Imperials." Ralof pulled a mess of lockpicks from his pocket and handed them to Desmond. "We'll need that gold once we get out."

The cage was open in less than twenty seconds.

"Amazing!" one of the Stormcloaks said.

"Are you a thief, then? Is that what you were arrested for?" asked Ralof.

Desmond smiled. "Nah, I just have a lot of various skills."

They divvied up the scattered gold among the four of them. There was a dead man inside the cage as well, and Desmond poked in the pockets of his robe, finding a few more coins and another blue potion. He discovered the man's hood was unconnected to his robe, and on a whim, he tried it on himself.

Ralof chuckled. "That hood rather suits you."

"Guess I'll keep it, then," Desmond said. _Can't be a proper Assassin without a hood._ It struck him then, how odd it was that he wanted to cling to his Assassin identity. Only a few short months ago, he'd never wanted to hear the words "Assassin" or "Templar" again. This new world afforded him the perfect opportunity to forget all that stuff. But instead he was equipping himself with a hood and a blade, without the slightest reluctance. _Well, a lot of things have happened in those months. Not least of which is I found out all that conspiracy stuff is actually true. My parents weren't crazy after all._ He stiffened, feeling a lump in his throat. _God, my parents... my friends... everybody... I haven't even been wherever this place is for an hour yet, and I miss them already._

Desmond blinked back tears. Attempting to get his mind off of the people he'd had to leave behind, he cast his gaze around the metal cell to check if there were any more coins. There weren't, but he did notice [a small greenish-brown book](http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:SR-icon-book-SpellTomeDestruction.png) partially covered by the dead man's robes. The cover didn't have any words on it, just a sort of illustration: something like a handprint made of flames. He picked up the book and thumbed it open to a random page.

The words didn't make any sense.  _Huh. They speak English here, but this sure isn't English. It's not Arabic or Italian either. It's like... some sort of runes, or something._ He flipped to the first page, though not really expecting the words there to be any clearer. There was, however, one word he recognized. At the top, in bold centered text, was the single word "SPARKS". Under that, there were more weird swirls.

"Sparks... what the hell..." He trailed off. Something was making him dizzy. He blinked, and the swirls on the page seemed to shimmer and move. Was it his imagination, or was the book getting warmer? The dizziness intensified and his heart began to pound. Suddenly there was a low muffled sound like a distant clap of thunder and the book was gone.

"What the fuck?"

The three Stormcloaks turned to Desmond. "What?"

"There- there was this book..." He checked the cage floor to make sure he hadn't just dropped the thing. "It was all weird and then- I know this sounds crazy, but it just... disappeared!"

"When you read it?"

"Yeah, it just-"

"We don't have time to waste with spellbooks, Desmond," said Ralof testily. "We've got to keep moving."

Desmond blinked. "Spell..."

"You should have just taken it, we could have sold the thing," snipped the Stormcloak who'd praised his fighting skills earlier.

Desmond stared after them as they filed out of the torture room. _They don't think it's weird that the book vanished? This universe is gonna take some getting used to._ He took one last look around the room, scanning for anything useful. A knapsack lay against a stone pillar. He grabbed it, transferred his potion and lockpicks into it, then slung it over his back and followed his fellows.

They trudged in silence further down into the depths of Helgen Keep. Desmond couldn't help but keep thinking about that book. _Spellbook, Ralof called it. A book of spells. Spells of magic._ He looked at his hand, recalling how the man he'd just fought had generated hot blue sparks to attack him with. _Sparks. That's what the spellbook said. Sparks. Were those swirly symbols the instructions on how to do that? How to shoot magic sparks at people?_ He wiggled his fingers experimentally. Nothing happened. He sighed. _Of course nothing happened. Because I couldn't understand the fucking directions._ He put his hand back on the handle of the sword at his belt. _Who needs magic spells anyway? I'm a wizard at fighting with normal methods. Sword, throwing knife, hand-to-hand, guns... though this world doesn't look like it's got the technology for guns quite yet._

"I hope someone knows where we're going," Ralof said quietly from in front of him. They eventually reached another torture chamber, and the torchlight behind the cages cast eerie shadows on the walls.

"You were with us on the carts, weren't you?" the Stormcloak woman asked Desmond. "Not your lucky day, huh?"

"I'm still alive, so I'd count that as lucky," he answered, and she smirked.

A rough break in the stone walls opened into a rocky cavern. Large freestanding bronze sconces held blazing coals to illuminate their way. Desmond briefly wondered who had lit them, but decided not to voice the question. The foursome continued through the foggy dimness until Ralof, on point, raised a hand for them to stop.

Voices echoed from somewhere ahead of them. "...orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives," a stern middle-aged man was saying.

"I'm not waitin' to be killed by a dragon!" another man said fiercely.

"You'll be killed by me, then!" Ralof roared, leaping out of the shadows at him, axe swinging.

The two other Stormcloaks charged in after him. "I'll water the ground with your blood!" taunted the woman. "You won't take us alive!" screamed the man.

Desmond was too busy fending off attacks to think of any good battle cries. Two soldiers had him flanked on a short wooden staircase, which wobbled under the weight of the trio. He danced just out of reach of a mace aimed toward his head, and swung his sword up at the attacker's unarmored bicep, landing a solid blow. But the one behind him then stabbed into his torso, and Desmond flinched at the sharp pain. _Damn, real wounds hurt a hella lot more than Animus ones! Guess it's got some sorta pain filter on it or something?_ he thought, jabbing his elbow back blindly to deter further stabbings. His elbow connected with only empty air, and he felt himself losing his balance from the sudden movement. But he quickly decided he could use that to his advantage, and spun around mid-fall to land atop one of the soldiers, pinning him. Before the soldier could get his wits back, Desmond had pulled out his dagger, and in one fluid and timeless movement, he thrust the blade through a gap in the Imperial armor. Then he snapped his attention to the soldier with the mace, who was fighting with his off-hand now, due to Desmond's demolition of his favored arm. Desmond easily parried the clumsy strikes and soon defeated this soldier as well.

"Requiescat in pace," he said smugly to the two fallen Imperials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Image credit: Bethesda and Unofficial Elder Scrolls Pages](http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:SR-npc-Torturer.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> Desmond's new gear: Imperial Sword, Steel Dagger, Novice Hood
> 
> Hey, I'm actually not half bad at writing fight scenes. C:


	7. What Now?

An arrow whizzed through the air, barely missing Desmond's ear. He spun around, Eagle Vision coming on automatically. On the far side of the underground battlefield, he spotted a red figure armed with a longbow, who was prepping another shot. Desmond quickly strafed sideways to hide behind a stone column, then popped briefly out from cover to hurl his steel dagger.

The projectile found its target in the archer's chest, easily piercing the leather, though not going deep enough to be fatal. However, he was fazed enough by it that he didn't see a burly blonde coming up from behind to finish him off. "Hah! We fight well together, Desmond!" Ralof crowed, his voice resounding across the stone chamber, where the bodies of six Imperial soldiers now lay sprawled and unmoving.

"Fuck yeah! That's what I call teamwork!" Desmond called back, pumping a fist in the air. He crossed the chamber and bent down to get his dagger, but then winced and let out a small "Ah", darting a hand to his back. His fingers touched torn leather and bleeding flesh, the spot where he'd been stabbed by one of the soldiers.

"You're wounded!" Ralof approached him. "Let me see it."

"I don't think it's too bad, is it?" Desmond said. _Sure hope it doesn't need medical attention. The doctors in this world are probably still using leeches or whatever._

Ralof prodded the injury with tender fingers. "The deep muscles are severed. If left to heal on its own, it will mend poorly. You should use that potion."

"Um, yeah. The health potion." Desmond opened his knapsack and got out the flask of red liquid. He tilted it back and forth a couple of times, watching the substance sloshing around. _Is this really gonna work? Am I supposed to drink it or, like, pour it on where I'm hurt?_

One of the other Stormcloaks cleared his throat impatiently. "Are you going to drink it or just look at it?"

 _That answers that, then._ "Alright, I'm drinking it, sheesh." Desmond popped the cork from the neck of the bottle and slugged down the contents.

The health potion had an odd meaty taste, like very undercooked beef, but in liquid form somehow. Not like water, though. Kind of like runny cream. Or milk. Yes. It was like undercooked beef with the consistency of milk. Desmond put that gross image out of his mind when he felt a tingling in his skin where he'd been stabbed. He reached around to check what was happening and felt the same rip in his armor, and traces of congealing blood, but no actual wound anymore. "Woah. Far out," he said quietly.

"We'll keep watch in case Ulfric comes through here," said the Stormcloak woman. "Talos guide the both of you."

Desmond retrieved his dagger, dipped it and his sword in a small stream that cut through the underground room to cleanse them of blood, then hung them back on his belt and followed Ralof into an arched passageway and over a drawbridge.

Another earth-shaking roar from the dragon came just as they'd passed the bridge, bringing a massive pile of stones down behind them. "No going back that way now," Ralof said impassively. "We'd better push on. The rest of them will have to find another way out."

Desmond tried his best not to be worried by the human remains he kept seeing as they picked their way unsteadily further on through the cave. Dim blue light filtered through scattered holes in the rock above them, and cold water splashed at their feet when they had to traverse a stream.

Suddenly Desmond yelped in surprise and pointed. "Holy shit, giant spiders!" The spiders heard the yelp and began scuttling creepily towards the two men.

Ralof grunted and took out his axe. "I hate these damn things!" he shouted as he sliced through one's bristly legs. "Too many eyes, you know?"

Desmond was flailing wildly at two spiders that had him trapped in a corner. "The eyes aren't really the part I'm having issues with!" He managed to chop the head off of one, then leapt at the other, piercing his sword vertically through its abdomen with a sickening **crunch**.

When at last the spiders were dealt with, they continued on for a short bit before Ralof fell into a crouch and whispered, "Hold up."

Desmond's mind raced. _What now? What could possibly be next after fire-breathing dragons and giant spiders?_

"There's a bear just ahead. See her?"

Desmond let out a relieved sigh. _It's just a bear. Not a freaky fantasy creature. And she's sleeping, not trying to claw my face off._

Ralof turned to him. "I'd rather not tangle with her right now. Let's try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step.... Or if you're feeling lucky, you can take my bow. Might take her by surprise."

 _Am I feeling lucky?_ "Y'know, Ralof," Desmond breathed, "after everything I've been through today, I don't think I wanna push my luck any further. I'm pretty good at sneaking, so let's do that."

Ralof nodded, and the two of them crept silently through the darkness. At one point, the bear yawned, stretched, and got to her feet. Desmond froze stock still while she slowly padded around and finally curled back up to sleep again.

When at last they were well past her, Ralof let out the breath he'd been holding. "Whew. That was close."

"You're tellin' me." Desmond prodded at a pile of bones on the ground. "If we weren't so good at sneaking, we coulda easily ended up like these guys."

"Yes, my friend," Ralof said, clapping him on the back, "truly, sometimes the wisest choice in battle is to avoid the battle altogether."

Desmond grinned.

Presently they approached a tall crack in the wall of the cave, through which blew a cool breeze and swirls of snow. Ralof jogged towards it. "That looks like the way out! I knew we'd make it!"

"All right!" Desmond followed him eagerly through the long and narrow crevice until at last they arrived in blessed sunlight. Ralof stretched out his arms and breathed deeply of the fresh air, while Desmond simply stared across the vast landscape, drinking it all in. _This is the world I gotta live in now, huh?_

There were countless pine trees dusted with snow, stretching from right beside him to miles in the distance. A rolling mountain loomed huge against the hazy blue sky, and tiny butterflies danced over tender green plants which sprouted alongside the footpath they walked.

_This place looks pretty nice, actually. When it's not being incinerated by a motherfucking dragon, that is._

As if reading his thoughts, Ralof pointed into the sky at something: the dragon was flying overhead, soaring away into the clouds. "There he goes."

"Yeah. Sure hope he doesn't come back."

Ralof grunted in acknowledgement.

Desmond looked up and down the path to see if anyone else was around, but saw no-one. "Do y'think your friends made it out alive?"

"No way to know. But this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out of here."

Desmond nodded. "Where to? I, uh, don't really have a place to stay."

"My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road." Ralof jerked a thumb to indicate the direction. "I'm sure she'd help you out."

"All right, lead the way."

"Actually, it's probably best if we split up."

Desmond made a small sound of distress in his throat at the prospect of being left to fend for himself suddenly.

Ralof laughed good-naturedly. "You're a natural warrior, Desmond. I trust you can survive on your own."

"But- but I'm, uh, new here." He remembered what Ralof had said to him after he first awoke: _"You were trying to cross the border, right?" Yeah, I guess I'm technically an immigrant._ "I'm not from, uh, Skyrim. So I don't know my way around."

"You can have my map, then." Ralof reached into a fold of his tunic. "I owe you that much, at least. I wouldn't have made it without your help today."

Desmond took the map, a square of folded-up paper. _Is this paper? It feels kinda weird for paper._ He rubbed a thumb over the edge. It was something soft and flexible, with a yellow tint. _Maybe its made outta some kind of animal skin._ "Thanks, man."

"You know, you should go to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today."

"Uh, yeah."

"If anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric."

"Olfrick, right." Desmond waved farewell as Ralof walked off, then unfolded the map to get his bearings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, until I started on this chapter I had never before thought about what potions would taste like.


	8. of Races and Bars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> check it, y'all: here's what my Skyrim!Desmond looks like at this point:
> 
>  

Skyrim certainly was a vast country, if the scale of this map was anywhere near accurate. Desmond scanned over the named landmarks. _Haafingar, Dawnstar, Rorikstead, Whiterun, oh hello, there's Riverwood. That's where I'm headed. But where am I now?_ A bit below Riverwood, he spotted another familiar place name. _Helgen, that's where those Imperials took us, right?_ He looked back and forth from the map to his surroundings several times. _Huge-ass mountain over there, that's probably this "Throat of the World" thing. What a weird name. So, if that's there and I'm here, then I need to head north, which is this way._ He continued down the trail, rechecking his map several times to be sure he didn't get turned around.

He soon noticed the sun was dipping low in the sky. Using a technique he'd been taught back on the Farm, Desmond held up his hands above the horizon to measure the time left before sunset. _About... three hours, looks like. Better hope I get to Riverwood before then. I wouldn't be surprised if werewolves or some shit come out after dark,_ he thought as he hustled along the rough path.

For now, at least, there wasn't anything trying to kill him. He was reassured by the familiar form of a fox that scampered across the path. _So they've got foxes and bears and butterflies here, same as my world. But they've also got dragons- or maybe just the one dragon, let's hope- and giant spiders, and who knows what else. Hello, what's this?_ He'd just rounded a bend in the path and spotted a stone platform covered with vines. However, it wasn't the platform or the vines which drew his attention, but the trio of oblong pillars, each with a hole drilled out near the top. As he came closer, he could make out humanoid figures engraved upon them.

He approached one and reached out to run a finger over the lines etched into the otherwise smooth stone. This one was the figure of a cloaked man with a dagger, depicted in an action pose. It almost reminded him of an Assassin leaping down onto a hapless target.

Then the lines began to shine a familiar electric blue. Desmond jumped back in surprise. "Woah! This is... First Civ tech?" He circled the pillar slowly, noticing the round hole was now filled with what looked like the same type of force field that had been inside the Grand Temple. Suddenly, a slight crackle broke the serene silence and a vertical beam shot upwards into the sky from the top of the pillar.

Before Desmond could ponder what the hell he'd activated this time, a voice from behind startled him. "Thief, huh?"

He spun around to face the new speaker. "What?" He had a feeling he'd be saying this word a lot in the coming days.

"I'm more of a warrior myself, but to each his own. You were one of the prisoners, right?" Desmond didn't have a chance to respond before the man continued. "So was I."

"Uhh... I don't remember seeing you- Wait, actually I kinda do. Wasn't your hair longer?"

The stranger laughed and pointed at his clumsily shorn locks. "My sweet dreads were set alight by one of those damned fire blasts. I had to chop off the burnt part once I got my hands on a blade because it stunk to Oblivion."

"Well. Good thing it only got your hair."

"A good thing indeed. My name's Kayd." The man stuck out a hand and Desmond shook it in greeting. "What did you say yours was? Miles?"

"Uh, yeah." He lowered his hood out of politeness. "Desmond Miles."

"Desmond Miles," Kayd repeated thoughtfully. "You **are** Imperial, aren't you." It wasn't really a question.

Desmond frowned. "Why do people keep thinking I'm an Imperial? Those guys sent me to the chopping block, remember?"

"Don't be daft, I don't mean 'Empire' Imperial. I mean 'Cyrodilic' Imperial."

 _Sarah what now?_ This didn't clarify things at all. Desmond waited for further elaboration.

Kayd gestured at himself. "I'm Redguard, see?"

"Thought you said you were Kayd."

"No, my **race** is Redguard."

Desmond narrowed his eyes. "You look African-American to me."

"I look **what**?"

"You know... Black."

"Black?" The man chuckled and looked down at his hands. "Brown's what I'd call it."

Desmond facepalmed. Obviously he'd have to get used to nobody having any cultural knowledge of his world, even if they did speak largely the same language. "Okay, so Imperial and Redguard are races? And I look like an Imperial?"

"You look like one and you're named like one. You really aren't?" Kayd's brow wrinkled slightly. "Are you Breton, then? You're nowhere near fair enough to be Nord, and you for sure aren't an Orc or any type of elf."

Desmond filed away the fact that orcs and elves apparently existed. "I'm none of those."

"Then what-"

"What the hell does it matter what race I am anyway?!" Desmond spat, avoiding the question. Now that he'd explored his multicultural ancestry- Syrian, Italian, British, Native American, and those were just a small fraction of it, he was sure- he wasn't sure he'd feel comfortable classifying himself as simply "white". The term seemed ridiculously reductionistic. And Kayd wouldn't know what it meant anyway.

"You're obviously not from around these parts, Desmond, else you'd know."

"Well enlighten me then."

"Folks around here, and most places in Tamriel, will make assumptions regarding others based on their race," Kayd explained. "Loyalties often lie along racial lines. Enmities too."

Desmond sighed. Some things, it seemed, were the same no matter what world you were in. "Yeah, it's like that where I'm from too. Unfortunately."

"Ah, you're one of those progressive types." Kayd smiled. "I wish more folks were like you, Desmond... Where **are** you from, then?"

"Uh, you probably won't have heard of it, but it's a place called New York."

Kayd nodded. "You are correct, I haven't."

Desmond felt more than heard the approaching growl. He spun round, pulled out his dagger, and hurled himself at the wolf, who was surprised by the man's confident aggression. Before Kayd had even managed to unsheathe his sword, Desmond was wrenching the dagger from the dead animal's throat and wiping the blade on its matted fur.

Kayd whistled in awe. "You certainly made short work of him. Were you part of the Fighter's Guild in that New York place?"

"I had some combat training, yeah," Desmond said, "but there's no Fighter's Guild."

"You're ex-military, then?"

"Not really, no." Desmond wasn't ready to divulge anything about the Assassins just yet, if ever. Although he'd tentatively accepted the hypothesis of "alternate universe", there was a slight possibility that this place could be some sort of simulation, like another type of Animus. If that was the case, Abstergo could be monitoring everything he said, waiting for him to reveal information that could be used against the Brotherhood. Out of habit, he started skinning the wolf and used that as an opportunity to change the subject. "Hey, do you know of a store or something where I can sell this fur?"

"Riverwood Trader's probably still open." The man gestured behind him to the town across the river. "Come on, let's go together."

The two of them ambled along the cobblestone-and-dirt path towards the little village. "So, what are those pillars?" Desmond asked.

"Standing Stones," Kayd answered. "It's said they bestow blessings from the stars."

"Who put them there?"

"Nobody knows."

"Hm. Just always been there, huh?" _Yep, sure sounds like First Civ. Weird that they'd just be out in the open like that, not hidden away._

Kayd chuckled. "There are quite a few ancient and mysterious things in the land of Skyrim, so you'd best get used to that if you plan to be here any length of time."

"Hm," Desmond said again. "I don't really plan on staying, actually... but then again, I didn't plan on coming here at all, yet here I am. So who the fuck knows."

"You've certainly arrived here at a tumultuous time," Kayd said as they crossed over a babbling brook.

"Right when a dragon attacks, yeah."

"Things were tumultuous even before the appearance of the dragon, Desmond. Surely even the citizens of New York have heard of the Stormcloak rebellion?"

"Ehhh, a little bit," he wavered. "New York's pretty far off from here so we don't get all the details of Skyrim-related news, plus I've been traveling, so, y'know..."

They passed under a wide archway built of stone and wood. "Well, I'll give you a summation of events if you like. The trader's like to close up soon, though," Kayd gestured to a building on their right, "so you'd better go ahead and sell that fur first before we get to discussing politics."

Desmond exchanged the wolf fur for three gold coins. He had no idea if this was a fair price or not, but he hadn't felt up to haggling. He browsed around the shop briefly, but didn't see anything worth buying except some more of those neat health potions, which he couldn't afford. _I guess I'll need to get a job if I'm gonna be living here._

Kayd was leaning against a wheelbarrow waiting for Desmond when he came out of the shop. "Hey, uh, is there a halfway decent bar in this joint?"

"Bar? Bar of what?"

"Y'know, a place that sells booze."

"Booze?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, don't tell me you guys don't have alcohol?!"

At the word "alcohol", Kayd's confusion melted away. "Oh, you're looking to find a tavern!"

"Yes!" Desmond nodded ecstatically. "A tavern!"

"Why din't you just say as much?"

"They call 'em 'bars' where I'm from."

"Do they? Huh." Kayd gestured for Desmond to follow him. "Right, come on then. It's not a tavern proper, but the Sleeping Giant has Riverwood set for ale, mead, and the like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to title this chapter somebody plz halp


	9. Food and a Feud

The Sleeping Giant Inn consisted mainly of a large open lodge type of room, the centerpiece of which was a rectangular stone firepit. The flames cast bold shadows across fur rugs on the floor, and a smattering of additional light was supplied here and there by small candles set in animal horns. Desmond detected a smoky meaty smell in the building, like overcooked barbecue. He and Kayd approached a wooden counter at one end of the room, behind which were large barrels and stacked wheels of cheese. Garlic, rabbits, and pheasants hung from a beam over the innkeeper's head. Desmond hoped the twenty-some gold coins he'd accumulated would be enough to buy a decent meal and a room for the night.

The innkeeper, a ruddy-faced man in a dirty green outfit, glowered at the two men. "We got rooms and food," he said gruffly. "Drink, too. I cook. Ain't much else to tell."

 _Geez, great customer service, dude._ "What kinda food?" Desmond dared to ask.

"Roast goat, twelve gold. Pheasant breast, fourteen gold. Slaughterfish, sixteen gold," the man listed lazily.

"Ah, I haven't had goat in quite some time," Kayd said hungrily. "Two orders of goat, then, Desmond?"

"Uh, okay," Desmond said, still wondering what exactly a 'slaughterfish' was. "And can I get some of that cheese with it?"

"Cheese is sixteen extra."

"Oh. Never mind then."

Kayd glanced sideways at Desmond, intuiting his money woes. "Yes, forget the cheese. It looks off, anyway!" he said brightly.

The innkeeper frowned and set about preparing their food. Desmond leaned idly against a wooden pillar and listened to a whistly out-of-tune flute song someone was playing while he waited, mouth watering.

Two haunches of charred meat on oak planks were eventually served up. "Need anything else?" By his tone of voice, the innkeeper really hoped they didn't.

"I'm looking for work," Desmond said, trying to sound confident, like the sort of guy people would fall all over each other to hire.

The innkeeper grumbled and rummaged under the counter, then shoved a folded paper at him. "Here. Some of the Jarl's men came by and left this bounty letter."

"Uhh?" Desmond scanned the slanty handwriting. _Bandits located in Halted Stream Camp have been harassing, robbing, and attacking citizens...._ "Um, that's not what I meant by 'work', dude."He set the paper down. "I mean I'm looking for, like, a regular nine-to-five. Are you guys hiring? I've got experience serving drinks."

The innkeeper grunted and shook his head. "We don't need anyone."

"Not even temp, or part-time?"

Another grunt.

 _Fine. I don't wanna work with an asshole like you anyway._ "Well, thanks for your time." Desmond paid for the food, definitely did **not** add a tip, then picked up his tray and took his leave of the rude man.

"Yer new here," observed a black-bearded man sitting at one of the rough-hewn wooden tables along the wall.

Desmond took a seat opposite him. "Yeah, just rolled into town."

"Ain't every day we get visitors in Riverwood. Name's Alvor."

"I'm Desmond." They shook hands. "So. What can you tell me about Riverwood?"

"Gerdur's family first settled here as wood cutters a few generations ago," Alvor drawled. "She and Hod run the mill. I make a decent living sharpening axes and fixing the sawmill."

 _Fascinating._ Desmond nodded politely with a fake smile.

Kayd came to join them at the table, with two mugs on his platter, one of which he handed to Desmond. "Ale's on me, friend."

"Oh, thanks, man." Desmond took a trial sip. The ale was a little on the watery side, but otherwise not half bad. _It's also probably a whole lot more sanitary than a glass of this place's water would be._ They set about eating their roast goat. There weren't any napkins or silverware to be found, but it seemed Skyrim etiquette didn't require their use.

"You've worked a tavern, then?" Kayd said between bites. "You don't strike me as the kind of man who worked a tavern."

"I'm just full of surprises. You were gonna tell me about the Stormcloak stuff?"

"How much have you heard already?"

"Uh... they're fighting to free Skyrim from the Imperials. And they're led by that guy Olfrick."

"Damn that wretch to Oblivion!" put in Alvor, his words a bit slurred. "It ain't right, what he did to the King! How can the citizens of Windhelm stand to have him as their Jarl? He's a murderer, a cold-blooded assassin!"

This last word stirred a shiver inside of Desmond, but then he quickly reminded himself _He doesn't mean capital-A Assassin, he just means it generically, of course!_

Kayd's face seemed to indicate he disagreed with Alvor's assessment, but he managed to reply calmly. "Yes, there are many who call him a murderer. But there are also those who see what happened as a righteous duel, and they say Torygg lost fair and square."

Desmond chewed his goat leg in silence, hoping to stay out of the middle of this.

"Fair?! Hah! Ain't nothing **fair** about that sort of power!" Flecks of spit flew through the air at Alvor's "p" sound. "If he had a beef with Torygg, he shoulda solved it through dippa... displa... dispomacy!"

"You mean diplomacy?" Desmond asked with a smirk.

"S'what I said... dispomacy." Alvor snorted noisily and took another generous gulp of whatever he was drinking.

"What kind of power are we talking about?"

Kayd's eyes glistened. "They say he used the awesome power of the Voice. He studied for years to master that ability!"

"Studied! Hah!" Alvor cackled and swayed on the bench. "Sold his soul to a Daedra, if you ask me."

"Deedra?" Desmond attempted.

"Yes, Daedra! A power like that could only come from the depths of Oblivion!" Alvor thundered, the words running together slightly.

"You couldn't be more wrong!" Kayd shot back. "Ulfric says the power of the Voice lies within all true sons of Skyrim! One only has to learn, to put in the effort-"

"That coward is no son of Skyrim!" Alvor was nearly yelling now. "If he cared for his country and his people, he'd abide by the Concordat!"

"Abandon his god, you mean, and lick the boots of the elves?" Kayd asked pointedly.

"The Talos ban saddens me, yes," Alvor acknowledged, "but it wasn't truly enforced until Ulfric started agitating about it! And now the Thalmor roam across Skyrim, rooting out Talos worship as if it was necromancy! Ulfric and his ilk should have left well enough alone!" He slammed a fist into the table to drive home his point.

Just as Kayd opened his mouth to issue a rebuttal, Desmond held up his hands between the two arguing men. "Dudes, can we chill out? I'm sorry I even asked about this political stuff. Let's just finish our food in peace, all right?"

Alvor and Kayd reluctantly abandoned their conversation, though they continued to stare daggers at each other. Eventually the bearded man stood, grumbled, "Sigrid'll be expecting me home," and left the inn.

Kayd turned to Desmond and looked serious. "Do you grasp now the situation this country is in?"

"Uh, yeah, more or less. You're on Ulfric's side, then?"

"Of course. I may not be Nord, but Skyrim is still my home and I don't like it being held hostage by those damn elves and their Imperial puppets." Kayd bit the last blob of meat from his goat femur and tossed the bone into the firepit. "So, Desmond. Forgive me if this question is too rude. But if you are a stranger to Skyrim, knowing near nothing of our cause, then why were you sentenced to execution with us?"

Desmond prolonged the sip he was taking until he thought up an answer. "Well..." he finally began. "I guess the short version is... my family has a history of opposing the Empire." _The Empire seem to be the bad guys here. Equivalent to Templars, kind of. So that's not really a lie, per se. It's not really anything to do with why I was on that cart, but he'd probably question my sanity if I told him the whole story._

"But you aren't allied with Stormcloak?"

"I... No. We're our own thing."

"Who's 'we'?"

"My family and friends." Desmond sighed very quietly.

"All of them still back in New York, I presume?"

"Uh..." He honestly didn't know. _Shaun, Becca, and Dad all left the Temple like I told them to. They might be right outside the cave or they might be halfway across the country by now. And Mom..._ He sighed again. "I'm really not sure. I hope they're safe, wherever they are."

"Well, any enemy of the Empire is a friend of the Stormcloaks." Kayd clapped Desmond gently on the back. "I pray the Divines watch over your allies and mine alike."

 _Divines?_ Desmond had always considered himself an atheist, but now realized his spiritual beliefs might need some adjusting in this new world. _There's magic and dragons and elves and shit, so I guess gods aren't out of the question. I mean, assuming this is all real, not a simulation or hallucination._

Real or not, he definitely felt as if he'd spent the day narrowly escaping various dangers, and he was appropriately exhausted. "This place rents rooms, right?"

Kayd nodded from behind his mug as he drained the last drops of his ale. "Ten gold a night."

Furrowing his brows, Desmond pulled out the remaining coins from his pocket. "I'll only have five left after that."

"Mmm." Kayd looked in his own coin purse. "I'm also low on funds."

"Um. I guess we could split one room between us?" Desmond suggested.

"And one bed?"

"You can have the bed," Desmond said hastily. "I got no problem sleeping on the floor."

The innkeeper gave them a dirty look when they paid their ten gold, but didn't say anything, just pointed the way to their room. Desmond laid himself down on one of the fur rugs and folded another fur as a makeshift pillow.

"Are you sure you're all right down there?" Kayd asked.

"I'm fine. I been sleeping on floors a lot lately, so I'm kinda used to it."

"Hm. If you say so." Kayd settled into the bed, which didn't look that much more comfortable than the floor anyway. "What say we head up to Whiterun tomorrow? Perhaps the Drunken Huntsman might hire you on."

"Sure, I got nothing else on my schedule."

"And if that fails, then we'll continue northward to Windhelm and see about getting you into the Stormcloaks!" Kayd sounded a little giddy at this prospect.

Desmond yawned. "Maybe. Right now I just wanna sleep." And sleep he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desmond has not yet learned the RPG trick for accumulating money that I use, namely "pick up a bunch of random shit you don't need and sell it off".


	10. A Fitful Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song lyrics used as chapter titles ftw
> 
> "ally and enemy" is from a song too
> 
> probably nobody will know what songs they are from though
> 
> well, possibly salanaland will know the source of "ally and enemy"
> 
> anyway let's get to the chapter already

Sleep came easily to Desmond despite the rough scratchiness of his fur beddings and the chill of the night. But with sleep came dreams, and not all of them good ones.

For most of his life he'd never had many dreams, or at least not many that he remembered afterward, but using the Animus had changed that. Now he dreamed almost every night, and very vividly. It seemed that something about unlocking the hidden lives recorded inside of him had also unlocked his unconscious mind's imagination. Perhaps it was related to the Bleeding Effect, for his dreams often played out from the point of view of one of his ancestors. But equally often he was just himself, in a variety of situations, from the mundane to the bizarre.

Tonight he was having a particularly weird one. At the climactic point of it, a giant space dragon, ridden by a giant Minerva, was burning the Earth to toast. He awoke in a shuddering sweat and sat up, blinking in the darkness. _Damn. What a crazy-ass dream... And a fucking long one too... It felt like hours and hours and- Wait. Wait a minute...._

As his eyes adjusted to the low light of an almost burned-out candle, Desmond realized he wasn't surrounded by the smooth and eerie geometry of the Grand Temple, but by the rustic wooden furnishings of the Sleeping Giant Inn. "Fuck," he said under his breath, then again, longer and more drawn-out. "Ffffuuuuck..."

_It wasn't a dream. ...Well, Minerva riding a space dragon probably was. But everything else: the giant spiders, the glowing pillar, the finger-lightning dude, the health potion, the normal dragon- Hah. "Normal dragon". Now that's two words I never thought I'd use together._

Feeling dazed, he got up, borrowed a coat from the wardrobe, and went outside to try and clear his head. He leant against a tree trunk and gazed up at the night sky. Even the stars were unfamiliar. All the kids on the Farm had gotten celestial navigation lessons drilled into their heads. After escaping the place, Desmond had made good use of the knowledge on his cross-country trek, and now he could tell at a glance that this sky was not the sky of his own world. _No Ursa Major. No Ursa Minor. No Aquila. No Orion. Nothing I can recognize at all._ A glum sigh escaped him, fogging in the air.

"Look at it this way, Desmond," he said aloud to himself. "You wanted to take a vacation after that doomsday temple stuff was over, right? Well, you got your wish. You got to take a vacation to a whole other fuckin' universe." He rolled his eyes and kicked a stray stone on the ground. "Hell of a vacation. Starts off with almost being decapitated. But hey, you're an Assassin, you're used to everyone tryna kill you, right?" He sighed again and headed back inside.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Desmond was awoken by a boot nudging the side of his ribs. He let out a soft groan and frowned blearily up at Kayd.

"Sorry, friend. I wanted to let you have your rest, but the bard's playing 'Age of Aggression', and I can't stand it."

Desmond rubbed sleep-crust from his eyes and wondered what the hell Kayd was talking about, but then heard a jaunty voice, with lute accompaniment, from the main room of the inn: "Down with Ulfric! The killer of kings! On the day of your death, we'll drink and we'll sing!"

Kayd winced, as if physically hurt by the lyrics, and kicked Desmond again, a little less gently this time. "Let's get a move on!"

They hustled out of the inn, Kayd shooting a fierce glare at the bard.

"Guess we can't afford breakfast, huh?" Desmond said, then remembered something. "Hey, Ralof told me his sister's family lives in this town. And he said she'd help us out. D'you know where her house is?"

"Gerdur? Yes, I know where she lives. Let's go then." The two of them ambled down the path until a shrill voice broke the morning calm.

"I'm telling you, Dorthe, I saw a dragon!"

Desmond and Kayd turned toward the shout. On the porch to their left, a middle-aged woman was talking to a young girl.

"Hilde, stop it," the girl said, rolling her eyes. "I know dragons aren't real."

"Sven didn't believe me either! But I know what I saw! It was as big as the mountain, and black as night!" Hilde's eyes were wide and shaky.

Dorthe stamped her foot. "I'm too old to believe in those dumb legends!"

"Legend no more," Kayd said, approaching the porch. "We saw it too."

Desmond nodded. "Yeah, but 'as big as the mountain' is kinda exaggerating. It was pretty damn big, though."

Hilde clapped her hands. "Finally, someone believes me!"

Dorthe looked up at the two men. "There's really dragons? Just like the legend?"

"I dunno about 'just like the legend', but it sure was a dragon," Desmond said, then, upon seeing the girl cringe in fear, he hastily added, "But he flew away yesterday, he's long gone now, so don't worry, okay?"

"I'm not scared!" Dorthe insisted. "Me an' Frodnar can take on any bad old dragon! We'll fight him together!"

Hilde grabbed the girl's shoulder. "You leave the fighting to the guards, dearie!"

Dorthe pouted. "Aw, you're no fun!"

Kayd and Desmond took their leave, continuing onward to Gerdur's house.

 

* * *

 

"Desmond! Kayd!" Ralof embraced them like long-lost brothers. "I see you've made it." He turned to face a woman seated at the table, whose shiny blonde hair and high cheekbones matched his own in an unmistakable family resemblance. "Gerdur, this is Desmond, the plucky fighter I was just telling you about, and Kayd I believe you've met before."

Gerdur nodded. "Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine. You two are welcome to stay here as long as you need."

Desmond took a seat as well. "I don't think we're staying, actually. We were gonna head up to, uh, whatsit-town-"

"Whiterun," Kayd supplied with a grin. "Specifically, the Drunken Huntsman. Desmond looks for all the world like a seasoned warrior, but he says his true calling is waiting on drunks in a tavern."

Ralof laughed heartily. "By Shor, you've got to be kidding!"

"It's true!" Desmond countered. "I'm a bartender, and a damn good one, too! Or I **was** , before Absterg-" He stopped abruptly.

The other three stared at him, puzzled. "Absterg?" Gerdur repeated. "What is that?"

"Absterg **o**. It's the name of, um..." _Do they have 'corporations' here?_ he wondered briefly. _Probably not._ "Abstergo's a huge organization. With a lot of money. They're, uh... they're bad people." _Ugh, what a fucking lame-ass way to put it, but I don't really feel like explaining all about Templars and Assassins and Pieces of Eden right now._ He settled for, "They pretty much control the world back where I'm from," then pointed to a bubbling soup pot next to the fireplace. "Can I have some of whatever that is?"

"Beef stew," Ralof said. "Go right ahead. There's plenty to go around."

Desmond eagerly served himself a bowl of the stew.

"'Bad people'? How so?" Kayd asked.

"Oh boy. Where do I start? They think they're making the world more peaceful by eliminating freedom. They killed a bunch of my allies some ten years ago, trying to purge us from existence. And just a few months ago, they kidnapped me, held me hostage, threatened to kill me once they had the information they wanted."

"But you escaped, apparently."

"They wanted me to escape," Desmond said bitterly. "So I'd let my guard down. A so-called 'friend' of mine was actually working for them, so they were still watching me. Hoping I'd lead them right to their goal. And they almost succeeded." He closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his head, feeling sickened. "I don't wanna talk about it. Let's just eat and then get to Whiterun."

"When you get there, could you do something for me? For all of us here?" Gerdur asked.

"Sure, what?"

"Ralof told me what happened. There's a dragon on the loose and Riverwood is defenseless. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt."

Desmond exchanged a quick glance with Ralof and Kayd. In that glance, the three of them silently decided it was better not to mention that countless Imperial soldiers had been unable to defend against the dragon's wrath in Helgen. "Uh, sure, I'll let him know," Desmond said, hoping his voice didn't betray him. "So, how do I get to Whiterun from here?"

"Cross the river and then head north. You'll see Whiterun on its hill as you pass the falls," Gerdur said. Desmond had been trying to place what exactly her accent sounded like; the slightly swallowed Rs and airy vowels seemed Scandinavian, he now decided. _Not that I know a lot of Scandinavian people to compare it to, but hey._

Ralof frowned. "You're seriously going to settle in Whiterun, then?"

"You got some problem with Whiterun?"

"It's an all right town," Ralof admitted with a half-shrug. "Jarl Balgruuf still hasn't declared for one side or the other, so at least you won't be too bothered by Imperials. But I've seen you fight, Desmond. It'd be a crime to waste that talent in the Drunken Huntsman!"

Desmond swallowed another spoonful of stew before answering. "Lemme guess, you want me to join up with Ulfric."

"Didn't I say as much when we left Helgen?" Ralof swung his almost-empty mug through the air as he spoke. "You'd make a fine Stormcloak, I know it."

"Ulfric's cause is just, Desmond," Gerdur said, her voice gentle yet unwavering. "The Empire may have been good for Skyrim once upon a time, but those days are long past. I'm glad Ralof is helping drive them out of here. If I was a bit younger, I might have joined the fight myself."

Kayd laughed. "Come on, you aren't all that old, Gerdur! I'm sure you could join Ulfric now!"

Gerdur smiled. "Perhaps, but I have Frodnar and the mill to look after here in Riverwood."

"Ahh," Ralof sighed. "So you do. Regardless, we need every able man and woman we can find to stand for Skyrim's freedom." He looked to Desmond again. "And you're more than able enough. It doesn't matter that you aren't from Skyrim. Galmar would even accept an Argonian, if he was half as fearless as you, Desmond."

"Galmar?" Desmond asked.

"Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's right-hand man. He handles the new recruits."

"He's a tough old soul. A veteran of the Great War, same as Ulfric," Kayd put in.

Desmond, of course, had no context in which to put this information, so he just sipped some more of his stew, trying not to look too confused.

"I can tell you're unsure, Desmond," Ralof said, eyes piercing and stern. "But I can also tell you're an honorable man. Promise me this. Promise me you'll at least visit Windhelm, and talk to Ulfric."

He swallowed the last of the stew. "All right, Ralof. I'll do that. Maybe not right away, but I **will** do it, I promise." _I don't exactly want to get mixed up in this war thing, but it couldn't hurt to talk to the guy, right? And maybe their cause really is something worth fighting for._ "Remind me where Windhelm is?"

"Northeast of here. Right where the White River splits into River Yorgrim. It's on that map I gave you. Can't miss it."

"Right, of course." Desmond stood up and looked to Kayd, who had just finished off a stew bowl of his own. "You ready to go, then?"

Kayd nodded and got up. "I thank you for your generosity, Gerdur. And your cooking is phenomenal."

She inclined her head graciously. "If there's anything else you need, just let me know."

"I think we're good for now," Desmond said. "Unless you have any health potions you're not using?"

As it turned out, she did have a couple to spare, and Desmond thanked her profusely as he put them into his knapsack. _These things are fucking amazing. I wonder just how bad you'd have to be injured before they didn't work anymore?_

"I'm going to rest up here a while before heading to Windhelm," Ralof said, sounding suddenly tired. "Good luck."

Desmond and Kayd bid him a warm farewell, then headed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desmond also took a bathroom break while he was out at night but I couldn't figure out a good way to write that in without ruining the mood :|
> 
> Not having proper bathrooms is another thing he's probably used to. I mean, he was in that cave for months on end and I sure didn't see a bathroom anywhere in there, did you?


	11. Exposition Boulevard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited March 8 2015

The day was sunny but mild, with no trace of last night's light snowfall. Butterflies coasted along on occasional fragrant breezes as the two men set off across the river, then turned to follow the northward path.

Desmond supposed now was about as good a time as any to ask a question. "Hey, Kayd?"

"Hm?"

"I keep hearing about a dragon legend. Can you tell me something about that?"

"Are there no dragon legends told in New York?"

"Well, yeah, there's a few." Desmond recalled one in particular from his favorite book in the Farm's library. "For example, there's a legend where a dragon named Smaug takes over the mountain kingdom of the dwarves. 'Cause Smaug really likes gold and treasure and shit, and the dwarves had this ginormous treasure room inside the mountain. So he kicked the dwarves out and went to sleep in a big pile'a'gold. 'Cause that's how he do."

"A single dragon drove the dwarves to extinction?" Kayd looked fearful.

"Nah, Smaug didn't wipe 'em out. They just had to go live somewhere else for a hundred or so years. Then the dwarf king's son or grandson or something came back and killed Smaug later. Wait, actually I think it might've been some other dude who killed him." Desmond didn't recall the details very well; after all, it had been a good decade or more since he'd last read _The Hobbit._ "But anyway, then there wasn't any dragon guarding the treasure, so there was a crazy battle between the dwarves, the elves, the orcs, and the humans." As he spoke, Desmond gradually realized that the events of Tolkien's fantasy actually wouldn't be so fantastical in this universe. _Holy shit! Maybe..._ "Um, as long as we're trading legends, do you guys have any legends about a guy called Sauron?"

"Sauron..." Kayd thought for a few moments. "It sounds Elvish, but I can't say I've heard that particular name before."

"He's not an elf, but whatever. All right, have you ever heard of the One Ring?"

Kayd just looked puzzled at this.

"A.K.A. the Ring of Power?" Desmond offered.

"An enchanted ring of some sort? What is it said to do?"

"It turns you invisible. But it also turns you evil."

"Ah. I have heard tell of rings enchanted to grant certain minor blessings. None that 'turn you evil', though."

 _Guess this isn't Middle-Earth after all, then._ "Well, it is just a book. Just a legend." _And a movie series_ , Desmond refrained from adding, not sure he'd be able to explain that concept properly.

"We all thought that dragons were legend," Kayd pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I guess some legends have a grain of truth to them," Desmond said, remembering the one about Adam and Eve and an apple. "So, tell me the Skyrim dragon legend."

Kayd scratched his head. "Well... it is said that in days of yore, dragons were plentiful in Skyrim, and were worshipped by the ancient Nords. At some point they all vanished, or were slain, or something like that."

Desmond waited for the rest of it, but he soon realized that was all. He stopped walking and grabbed Kayd's arm to pull him to a halt as well. "That's it?" he said shrilly. " **That's** the amazing dragon legend? 'Once upon a time there was a shitload of dragons and now there's not, we don't know why, the end'? What the hell?"

Frowning, Kayd shook free of his grip. "There's probably more to it, Desmond. However, I don't know any further details. I was never one to pay much attention to legends. Especially legends about ancient history."

"Heh." Desmond chuckled lightly. "Me neither, I guess. But, uh, y'know, sometimes history is more relevant than you'd think. There's a saying where I'm from: 'Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it.'"

They resumed their walk, and Kayd rubbed his chin, pondering the phrase Desmond had quoted. "Doomed to repeat it... I quite like that saying. It's very wise."

"Speakin' of history, tell me about this Great War Ulfric fought in."

This simple inquiry made Kayd's jaw drop. "By the Nine, you haven't heard of- You've got to be joking!"

"Uh... Yeah." Desmond put on a fake smile. "Haha. Ha, of course I know about the Great War, I mean, who doesn't? Oh man, you shoulda seen the look on your face. Ha ha."

He wasn't quite sure that Kayd bought this, but at any rate the subject was dropped and they continued their trek in silence for some minutes.

Ahead of them, an elk drinking from the river looked up at their approaching footfalls, froze stock still, then nimbly leapt into the shallow water and paddled away.

Eventually Kayd spoke again, more slowly and somberly. "There's another legend I've heard." He turned to face Desmond, looking grim. "Supposedly... dragons can never be truly killed."

"Say what?" Desmond sputtered.

"Except by the Dragonborn."

"By the **what**?"

Kayd shrugged. "Some sort of mighty warrior. A mortal blessed by the gods. Again, I don't know further details."

"Dragonborn," Desmond repeated. "Like, **literally** born from a dragon?"

"I just said I don't know!" Kayd huffed. "But if I had to venture a guess, then no, I suppose it isn't meant literally!"

Desmond shrank back slightly. "Geez, dude. Yeah, now that I think about it, that was a pretty stupid question, but you don't have to bite my head off."

"Bite your head off? Heh." Kayd chuckled at the unfamiliar idiom. "You certainly have an interesting manner of speech. I've never heard anything like it. Where exactly **is** your country of New York?"

Now Desmond chuckled. "It's not a country, it's a city. Not some dinky little place like Riverwood or Helgen, though. There's millions of people living there."

"Millions?" Kayd gaped.

"Yeah, there's like two mill in Brooklyn alone, I think," Desmond said offhandedly. "Brooklyn, that's one of the five boroughs, the one I lived in. Each borough is kinda like its own city, actually."

"Surely this is another of your jokes, Desmond," Kayd pleaded. "Millions of people could not live in one city! I'm not sure there are even one million people in all of Skyrim!"

"Well, they might not be truly 'living' but they do reside there, at least."

"The citizens are **undead**?"

Desmond flailed his hands in front of his face. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I mean a lot of them have really shitty lives, is all. Trust me, I dealt with a lot of weirdos at Bad Weather, but I'm pretty sure none of them were actual zombies."

Kayd was silent another minute, still trying to process the concept of New York's population.

The words "undead" and "zombies" echoed in Desmond's mind. _Oh boy, I guess they have those here too._

"Your land must be truly distant," Kayd said at last. "I have never seen 'New York' or 'Brook Lin' on any map of Tamriel."

"Brooklyn," Desmond corrected. "It's 'Brooklyn', one word, not 'Brook Lin'."

Kayd snorted. "All right, then. I have never seen 'Brooklyn' on a Tamrielic map either. It's on some other continent?" he asked, voice tone rising in slight amazement.

"It's pretty fuckin' far away, yeah," Desmond said, wondering how much of the truth he could tell without being branded a heretic or a madman.

"Yet you speak Tamrielic, if a little oddly."

Desmond shrugged off this observation. "I know a lotta languages. And yours is pretty similar to mine, actually."

Kayd's eyes were suspiciously narrowed and he appeared about to ask another probing question, but Desmond cut him off by pointing to the river on their right. Ahead of them, it rushed steeply downward over jagged rocks. "Whiterun's just past the waterfall, right?" He lifted his gaze and peered through the pine trees. Sure enough, a walled city thick with medieval buildings was visible in the near distance.

 

Despite the roar of the falls, Desmond's keen ears heard Kayd's low hiss of disgust. "Imperial dogs!" he spat under his breath, then gestured at a group of people some eighty yards down the hilly path.

There were four of them: three soldiers in Imperial armor and one man, wrists bound, in the same sort of tatty rags Desmond himself had been wearing only yesterday.

"We must free him." Kayd turned to Desmond. "I know you are no Stormcloak yet, but-"

"Shh," Desmond said quietly. He raised his hood and squinted at the soldiers and their prisoner, then looked above the scene at the tall trees lining the path to Whiterun.

Kayd gritted his teeth. "Well if you're just going to stand there sightseeing, I'll free him myself!" He took out his axe and jogged ahead.

"Wait!" Desmond called after him, but it was no use. The Imperials had already spotted him and had pulled out their swords to meet him in battle. _Three against one, with no fucking stealth approach. Goddammit, these Stormcloaks are stupid._ Desmond scrambled up a large rock, then jumped from the top of that onto a tree branch.

In two shakes of a skeever's tail, the three Imperials had Kayd surrounded. He swung his axe fiercely at the one in front of him, landing a slice clean through the leather armor. But in the same instant, the soldier on his left brought his sword edge down to chop into the Redguard's arm, and he roared in pain and anger as blood spurted from the wound. Dodging a swing from the third soldier, Kayd spun to face the one on his left, raising his axe to retaliate. "Freedom or Sovngarde!" he shouted as he hacked into the Imperial.

"Ha!" the soldier laughed. "Like the bite of a-"

Just then, a brown blur dropped out of nowhere on top of the soldier. Kayd was thrown off for half a second, wondering at the identity and intentions of this newcomer. But when he spotted the distinctive tattoo peeking out from under the man's left bracer, he let out a laugh and resumed the battle with renewed vigor.

The two remaining soldiers were even more flustered by the hooded man's sudden appearance, and they kept stealing glances upward to check for more possible aerial attackers. With their attention thus compromised, the Stormcloak and the Assassin soon defeated them.

When the last of the three Imperials had fallen, Kayd shot Desmond a look that was half smirk and half sneer. "You made quite an entrance there. I'm glad you decided to help after all."

Desmond threw back his hood and glared. "Dude! I was gonna help you!"

"And you did, eventually." Kayd went over to the prisoner and cut him free from his binds.

"Oh, Talos bless you for saving me from those Imperials!" the man said, smiling brightly.

"It's my pleasure to put down rabid Imperial dogs," Kayd smiled back. "Whiterun's just down the road, friend, you'll find refuge there in Balgruuf's neutrality."

The man thanked them again and scampered off down the hill.

Desmond, noticing Kayd's arm was still bleeding freely, pulled a health potion from his knapsack and handed it over. "You're injured. You probably wouldn't be if you hadn't ran off ahead of me."

"Hmph." Kayd took the potion and drank it. The gash on his arm sewed itself back together within seconds, and Desmond tried not to look too amazed at the sight. Kayd then flung the empty bottle back to him with more force than was necessary. "Maybe we were wrong about you, Desmond. Maybe you're not cut out to be a Stormcloak after all."

 _I never actually said I wanted to be one_ , Desmond thought, but didn't say. Instead, he said, "I wasn't just sightseeing back there, you know. I was scoping out the situation."

"The situation was clear," Kayd said firmly. "These Imperial bastards had that man prisoner."

"And we coulda saved him with less bloodshed," Desmond shot back. "We coulda bribed them to let him go, instead of killing them."

Kayd threw back his head and laughed. "Hah! Even assuming they were the sort to take a bribe, with what would you have bribed them, Desmond?"

Desmond grunted in acknowledgement of their lack of money. "Okay, fine, but you got your arm sliced open, and now we're down a health potion. We coulda avoided that with a little strategy. Instead of just rushing into battle, we coulda snuck up on 'em through these bushes." He pointed to the thick shrubbery that lined the path. "Or, we coulda **both** done air assassinations, then we'd only have to fight one guy on the ground."

Kayd gave him an odd look. "Air assassination?" he repeated warily. "Another of your odd New York sayings?"

"That's what I did, when I took out that dude from the tree," Desmond said, kneeling down to check the dead men's pockets out of habit. He came up with a dozen gold coins and added them to his own meager collection, then began to lift up one of the bodies.

"What are you doing?"

"Hiding the bodies, what does it look like?" Desmond panted. With a bit of effort, he pulled the dead man into the shrubbery, then turned back to face Kayd. "You gonna help or you gonna make me do all three myself?"

"What point is there in hiding them?"

Desmond rolled his eyes. "I dunno about you weird Skyrim folk, but where I'm from, people tend to freak out if they're just walking down the road and they see a pile of fresh corpses. People usually report that sorta shit to the authorities. Authorities usually wanna find out who did it, capisce?"

"What is 'capeesh'?"

Desmond heaved a massive sigh and began dragging another of the soldiers out of view. "It means 'do you understand?'"

"I have no problem with leaving dead Imperials out on display. A flesh-and-blood proof to the people of Skyrim that the Empire's days are numbered."

"Yeah, well, I'm not you. I'm more of a keep-things-discreet type of guy."

"It must be a very rough sort of tavern you work at," Kayd said.

Desmond didn't fail to detect the sarcasm. "Okay, you got me, Kayd." He kicked the last body into the bush and turned to face him. "You got me, I'm not exactly a hundred percent a barten- uh, tavern worker. I did work a tavern for a few years, but that's not what I was doing before I came to Skyrim."

Kayd looked way too smug. "You're not really from a place called New York, either, I suspect."

"No, that part's true, I **am** from New York!" Desmond retorted, then thought a moment before adding, "Well, actually, yeah, you're kinda right. I'm originally from South Dakota."

"South **where**?"

"Yeah, that's not on any map you've seen either, I know." Desmond sighed. "But it's true, I was really truly born in a place called South Dakota. It's another part of the same country as New York."

Kayd crossed his arms, still looking a bit skeptical. "And what country is that, anyway?"

"It's got a few names. The United States of America. The USA for short. The land of the free, the home of the brave."

Kayd uncrossed his arms and his face softened. "I can tell by the homesick look in your eyes that this is a real place."

"Yeah."

"Is it across the Sea of Ghosts?" At Desmond's blank look, Kayd offered additional options. "Across the Padomaic Ocean? ...Across the **Eltheric** Ocean?... Come on, man, at the least, you can tell me if your homeland is north, south, east, or west of here."

"It's... I don't know, Kayd, all right?!" Desmond was starting to sweat. _Shit, he's gonna make me spill the whole beans._

The skeptical look was back. "I don't know you well, Desmond Miles, but I know you are not stupid. Surely you have the geographic knowledge to tell me what direction you hail from."

"I don't know the direction because..." Desmond braced himself. "Because it's in an alternate universe, okay?!"

Kayd blinked. A fluttering sounded through the air above them as a small group of birds took off all at once from a nearby tree. Desmond wondered whether he should have just answered with an arbitrary direction.

"Alternate... what?"

"No concept of 'universe', okay, right," Desmond muttered subvocally, then scrambled for another way to phrase it. "Like a different world, a different planet, a different... plane of existence, or something like that!"

Kayd was now full-on staring at him, goggling, wide-eyed, as if Desmond was some otherworldly being. (Which, technically, he was.) "I need to sit down," he mumbled, resting his head in his hands.

Desmond let out a tiny chuckle. "Yeah, I bet."

Kayd staggered down to the bottom of the gentle slope and Desmond followed. The path they were on split into three after the pine trees ended. Bridges spanned gentle creeks on two of the forks: over the bridge straight ahead lay the city of Whiterun, and to the right was the sudden jagged hulk of the Throat of the World.

Kayd took a seat on the low endstone of the nearest bridge and took a couple of deep breaths before looking at Desmond again, eyes still big as saucers. "You... you are not from Nirn?" he whispered, awestruck. "Not from Mundus?"

Desmond lifted his arms in a high shrug. "I guess not?"

"This explains why you could not tell me your race." Kayd shifted uneasily on the stone. "You are Daedra."

"I don't think I'm whatever that is." Desmond belatedly remembered a fragment of dialogue from last night in the inn: _"Sold his soul to a Daedra!" Shit, I guess that's some sort of demonic entity!_ He shook his head fervently. "No way, I'm definitely not a Daedra, geez! I'm a **person** , a human being, like you or Ralof or whatever. In my world they'd say my race is 'White'."

Kayd relaxed a fraction and cracked a tiny smile. "But you are not white any more than I am black."

"Yeah, I know, it doesn't make sense."

"So... you are some variety of magic-user?"

Desmond had to chuckle again at that. "Nah. I'm just some guy."

"Then... how did you travel from your world to this one?"

Desmond shrugged again. "I'm not sure myself, Kayd. I didn't do it on purpose, that's for sure. I'm just guessing, but..." He made a snap decision not to attempt explaining the First Civilization and the solar doomsday. At least not yet. "I think... I think I got sent here after I died in my world."

"You..." Kayd blinked at him several times. "You died."

"I was **supposed** to die, at least." Desmond had a brief and horrifying thought. _Fuck. If I'm not dead, does that mean the Eye didn't get activated and the Earth didn't get saved? Did Minerva send me here somehow so Juno wouldn't get released?_ With a great deal of difficulty, he pushed that thought away. _There's no way to know. No point in worrying about it now._

"How did you die?" Kayd asked softly.

Desmond looked away. "Sacrifice," he mumbled. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Staying safe, I hope?" Kayd and Desmond jolted when another voice interrupted their dialogue. Desmond turned to his left to see a man in loose cloth and chainmail, a long sword at his belt and a round wooden shield in his hand. A ram's head adorned the shield and the man's own head was completely covered by a full helmet. "Helgen, destroyed by a dragon. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah." Kayd glanced sideways at Desmond. "Lots of unbelievable things happening these days."


	12. Learning about Nirn

After the guard had bid them good day and continued on his rounds, Kayd and Desmond walked on toward the towering city of Whiterun.

"So," Desmond said, carefully casual, "I'm guessing from your reaction that, even as weird as this world is, you don't get a lot of dimension hoppers."

"Well," Kayd said with the slightest of smiles, "if by 'dimension hopper', you refer to a Man or Mer who was born outside Mundus, then, yes, I believe you're the first I've met."

"Yeah. I'm so fucking one-of-a-kind, it hurts." Desmond rubbed his head. "God, I really wish I could just be normal for once in my life... What's a Mer?"

"Mer is simply another term for Elf."

"Huh. Mer-elves." Desmond envisioned an underwater city thronging with fishy-tailed, pointy-eared creatures. "Crazy."

Kayd smiled, teeth shining in the midmorning light. "Mad with power, yes. They are the true source of Skyrim's troubles."

"Um, what?"

"The Thalmor-"

But before Kayd could explain further, Desmond interrupted him by throwing a hand up and stopping dead in his tracks. _Holy shit, I think I hear a data fragment!_

"Something wrong?"

"Shh!" Desmond hissed fervently. He cast his gaze around wildly to find the sound's source, mind racing with the implications. _So I **am** in some kinda Animus after all!_

Kayd cocked his head to the side and listened, then pointed at a bridge to their right. "It's under there, I think."

Desmond gave him a flabbergasted look. "You can hear it too?"

"Of course." Kayd covered one ear. "And it's quite annoying, now that you bring it to my attention."

Desmond had always assumed that the simulated people in the Animus weren't able to detect the data fragments, since those didn't actually exist in history. _Maybe things work differently here, since this isn't a genetic memory, but a simulated fantasy land._ He didn't waste time dwelling on that for long, though, but just hurdled over the side of the bridge, full of hope. _If there's data fragments, then maybe I can get into the core of the system and find a way outta here!_

He landed in a spatter of mud and looked toward the chiming.

But there was nothing there. Nothing but mud, water, weeds, and bridge.

Desmond tried turning on Eagle Vision, but there was still nothing, despite the maddening peal in his ears. No data fragment. No hidden symbol à la Sixteen's puzzles. No treasure chest, flag, or feather, even.

Just a stupid riverbank with a big dandelion-type plant sprouting among the muck.

Kayd leaned his head over the side of the bridge. "Come on, just pick it and let's get on our way."

"Huh? Pick it?" Desmond blinked in confusion, trying to process this sentence. "Wait... are you telling me that Animus sound is coming from this fucking weed?!" he asked, pointing at it incredulously.

"I don't know your word 'animus', but, yes. It's called a Nirnroot," Kayd explained. "Makes sense you've never seen one, as I suppose they don't have Nirnroots outside of Nirn."

"You guys have plants that make sounds." Desmond squatted down and stared at the jagged leaves, which were shimmering and vibrating ever-so-slightly. " **Plants** that make **sounds**."

Kayd laughed. "If you're hoping to stay discreet about your origin, I'd advise you not to act so stunned by the local flora. But this particular plant is somewhat uncommon. I bet we could sell it to the alchemist in Whiterun."

"Alchemist. Huh, okay. It's not poisonous or anything like that, is it?" Desmond asked, hovering his hand over the leaves.

"You'll be fine long as you don't eat it."

"Heh. It doesn't look very appetizing anyway." The ringing abruptly ended as Desmond pulled the Nirnroot from the wet dirt. He stored it in his empty potion bottle, then put the bottle back in his knapsack and clambered back up the small slope to rejoin Kayd on the path. "Oh, and, this should go without saying, but yes, I do indeed wanna keep my origin discreet. So don't tell anyone else, okay?"

"I don't know that anyone would believe me if I told them, Desmond. Hm. Des-mund," Kayd repeated slowly, as if he'd just heard it for the first time. He looked at his companion with renewed interest. "Your name, is that what it means? 'Outside of Mundus'?"

"I don't think so, man. I don't even know what Mundus is," Desmond admitted with a grin and a shrug, "and I'm pretty sure my parents didn't either. Is that the name of this universe?"

"Mundus is..." Kayd's face twitched unreadably. "This... all of this." He gestured with one arm in a wide arc that seemed to indicate the land around them. "Skyrim, Hammerfell, Morrowind, the oceans, Akavir, all of the continents and islands are a part of Nirn." He then raised the arm and opened his palm skyward. "And Nirn is fixed in the firmament of Mundus, through which the stars and moons dance."

Desmond let out a slow "Ohhh" as he realized what Kayd was describing. "I see. Nirn is this planet, and Mundus is space, the universe. Or **your** universe, at least." He saw that Kayd still didn't quite grasp the word so he defined it briefly. "Universe means the entire... everything that exists."

Kayd shook his head. "Mundus is not everything; you yourself are living proof of that. You are from one of the other realms."

"Other realms. Yeah, I guess."

"What is yours called?"

"I dunno if my actual universe has a name, but my planet's called Earth." Desmond winced imperceptibly. Just saying the word "Earth" made him momentarily think about its uncertain fate.

"Earth. As in dirt, or soil?"

Desmond shrugged again. "Well, that's what the planet's made of."

"Ours as well, I believe."

"Well, maybe 'nirn' is an old-timey word for dirt."

"Maybe it is."

As they continued along their way, they passed several little farms, where various villagers were hard at work tending small patches of crops. A couple of the farmers waved greetings to them, but most simply ignored them and went about their business.

Presently they came closer to the city walls, and passed through a stone gate, from which hung a tattered yellow banner bearing the same ram's head emblem Desmond had earlier seen on the guard's shield. "Is that the city's symbol or something?"

"The symbol of the entire hold," Kayd answered. "The city of Whiterun is the capital of Whiterun Hold."

Desmond nodded. "A hold is like a state, then? In my world, New York City is the capital of New York State."

They passed over a little brook via a wooden walkway, then followed the curving stone path up the gentle hill and over a drawbridge.

Three more guards stood watch in front of the closed wooden gates to the city proper. "Halt!" one of them called out.

"Is there a problem?" Desmond asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, and hoping they weren't in some sort of legal trouble from fleeing execution and killing Imperial soldiers.

The guard approached them. "City's closed with the dragons about," he said, his voice rough and throaty. "Official business only." It was unnerving not being able to see his face as he spoke.

Desmond was about to turn and start back down the hill when he remembered what Gerdur had asked. "Matter of fact, we are on some official business, actually," he said, straightening his posture. "Riverwood calls for the Jarl's aid."

"Riverwood's in danger, too? You'd better go on in, then." The guard nodded slightly, turned and gestured to the other two, who slowly opened one of the massive wooden doors.

"What's with the helmets?" Desmond whispered to Kayd as they entered the city. "Even freakier than the creepy masks the Janissaries wore. Those at least had eye holes."

"What is a Janissary?" Kayd whispered back.

"Never mind."

The first thing that greeted their eyes inside Whiterun's walls was a hanging sign. Upon it was the pan-universal image of a foaming mug. Desmond grinned widely as he read the words carved above. "Drunken Huntsman. Awesome." He lengthened his steps, eagerly heading for the building the sign labeled.

Kayd, however, reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of his hood. "Priority-wise, I'd say the safety of Riverwood beats out finding work, Desmond. Let's head up to Dragonsreach first."

"Dragonswhat?" Desmond turned back, eye twitching. "We're going to a dragon place? Dude, I d-"

Kayd sighed a tiny sigh. "Dragonsreach is the Jarl's palace, Desmond. Be at ease, there are no dragons there."

"Oh. All right, lead the way." Desmond followed the Stormcloak through the quaint little town. For a capital, there weren't all that many people there, and he began to understand how hard it would be for someone from this world to imagine a city the size of New York. _Wonder if maybe they used to have more people, but that Great War took out a bunch of 'em?_

They passed through a market district, then up some stairs and around a large dead tree. An obnoxiously loud voice was carrying across the open air from a brown-robed man in front of a statue. "...our Elven overlords!" the man was ranting to everyone and no one. "Today, they take away your faith! But what of tomorrow?! What then?! Do the elves take your homes? Your businesses? Your children? Your very liiiives?!"

Desmond tuned the guy out. He- or rather, his ancestors- had heard far too many screamed screeds about the "damnable acts of the Assassin Brotherhood" to take anyone like this at their word.

After walking up a shit-ton of stairs, over a moat, and across a short bridge, at last they arrived at Dragonsreach. The interior of the place was hugely opulent, all carved wooden pillars and arches, hanging flags woven with gold thread, blazing sconces along the lobby and a roaring bonfire in the central gallery. Desmond felt a tiny bit intimidated as he and Kayd approached the throne at the other end of the vast hall, where was sat a middle-aged man in a brown tunic and bejeweled diadem, stroking his yellow beard thoughtfully as he listened to the agitated man standing before him.

But before they could reach the Jarl, their way was blocked by a leanly-muscled woman with asphalt-gray skin and blood-red eyes, brandishing a sword straight at Desmond's throat. "What's the meaning of this interruption?!" she snapped.

"Uhh, dragon attack. Riverwood sent me," Desmond stammered, more freaked out by the warrior's unusual appearance than by her aggressive demeanor.

"Well, that explains why the guards let you in." The sword edge pulled a few inches away from Desmond's jugular as she relaxed her fighting stance ever-so-slightly. "Come on then. The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. But I'll be keeping an eye on you." Her angular face turned to Kayd. "Both of you."

"I don't want any trouble, ma'am," Desmond assured her. "Neither of us do, right, Kayd?"

"Yeah," Kayd said, having by now picked up this word from Desmond.

The woman cautiously sheathed her sword and led the two of them before the throne.

The bearded man seemed at ease, almost lounging in his seat, but obviously attentive as he regarded the two men approaching him. "What's this about Riverwood?"

"A dragon destroyed Helgen. Gerdur's afraid Riverwood could be next."

The long fingers twisted fitfully in the blonde beard. "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"Yeah, I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head," Desmond said, then mentally kicked himself for answering so flippantly. _This guy's like the governor or duke or whatever, I should probably be more formal when I talk to people like him._

The Jarl's eyes widened a bit. "Hm. You're certainly... forthright about your criminal past."

 _Shit, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that part._ "I'm not a criminal, it was just one of those wrong-place-wrong-time type'a deals," Desmond hastily said, immediately forgetting about formality.

The Jarl shook his head. "It's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen."

"The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak," Kayd explained. "Then the dragon attacked."

"I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this," the Jarl muttered to himself. Then he turned to the balding man he'd been in conversation with earlier. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a **dragon**?!"

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once," the gray warrior woman advised. "If that dragon is lurking in the mountains-"

Proventus cut in, his face slightly sweaty. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him!"

"I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" growled Balgruuf. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

The warrior woman gave a small bow with her hand over her chest. "Yes, my Jarl."

Balgruuf then addressed Desmond and Kayd graciously. "You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Proventus! Give these men a small token of my esteem." 

The sweaty man frowned, but dutifully left the room before returning with two sets of steel armor.

"Aw, awesome!" Desmond said, taking one of them and holding it up for inspection. "I been needing some different armor, actually. People keep thinking I'm an Imperial, and the Imperial gear sure isn't helping on that front."

Balgruuf gave them a mild smile. "There is another thing you could do for me, if you are so inclined. The two of you strike me as particularly suited for the task." He stood up, almost towering over Desmond and Kayd, since the throne was on a raised platform. "Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

"Court wizard," Desmond repeated, adding that to his mental list of Things That Are A Thing On Planet Nirn. "All righty then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> orz sorry this chapter took so freakin' long.
> 
> oh and by the way, in case you were wondering: no, Kayd isn't gonna be hanging around with Desmond forever, they'll part ways after Bleak Falls Barrow, though he'll show up again later, I'm sure.
> 
> Happy 28th, Desmond!


	13. Man-About-Town

The Jarl led them over to a room off the side of the main hall. "Fair warning. Farengar can be a bit... difficult." He shook his head softly. "Mages. You know."

Desmond, of course, didn't know, but went ahead and nodded fake agreement anyway. As they entered the side room, the first thing he noticed was a strangely-shaped table, formed from black metal, festooned with a dozen candles, a green orb, and a horned skull. Bent over the table was someone covered from head to toe in blue robes.

"Farengar," Jarl Balgruuf called.

Upon hearing his name, the robed figure straightened up and turned to face the other three.

"I think I've found some helpers for your... dragon project." These last words held a hint of skepticism.

"Ah? These two?" The mage's voice was deeper than the small squeak Desmond had for some reason expected.

"They escaped the dragon attack at Helgen."

Farengar pulled back his hood and looked keenly at them. "You two were actually there?"

Desmond nodded but didn't say anything, still a little weirded out by the creepy-ass table.

"Farengar will fill you in with all the details. I have other work to attend to." Jarl Balgruuf patted Desmond and Kayd's shoulders, then left.

Kayd set down the set of armor gifted by the Jarl. "What would you ask of us, wizard?"

Desmond went ahead and put down his armor as well. _Too much on the heavy side, now that I think about it. Probably wouldn't work out for me._

Farengar tapped his fingers together. "Ah, well, I could use someone to fetch something for me." He gave a thin smile that, on a less wispy-framed man, might have looked sinister. "Well, when I say 'fetch', I really mean 'delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.'"

Kayd tilted his head. "What does this have to do with dragons?"

Farengar's smile widened and he rubbed his bony chin. "Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker. Perhaps even a scholar?"

Kayd chuckled. "No, I am simply confused as to how some alleged stone tablet could possibly be relevant."

Farengar pulled out a low wooden chair from his desk and sat down. "You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities."

"Oh, but you didn't, huh?" Desmond said as he and Kayd took seats themselves.

Farengar gave a little nod. "One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons. Where had they gone all those years ago, and where were they coming from?"

Desmond sensed this could be a long and rambling talk, and tried to nip that in the bud. "So whattya need us to do? Just find this special stone?"

"Yes, the Dragonstone, said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet- no doubt interred in the main chamber- and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

"Bleak Falls Barrow?" Kayd asked.

"An old tomb, near Riverw-"

Kayd cut him off. "I know of this place. I have just never associated it with dragons. How do you know this 'Dragonstone' is there?"

Farengar picked up a palm-sized oblong of lavender crystal from his desk and turned it over in his hand. "I have my sources. Reliable sources," he said after a moment, sounding a little rushed and anxious.

Desmond watched the prismatic gem catch and reflect the candlelight. "Uh, you said this Dragonstone's in a **tomb**?" _Man, didn't I do enough graverobbing as Ezio?_

Farengar's small eyes darted up to face him. "Nothing you two strong warriors cannot handle, I'm sure, or else my Jarl would not have recommended you for the task."

 _What exactly are we "handling"?_ Desmond thought for a second longer before speaking again. "Wait, are you saying there's-"

"Draugr, yes, most likely."

Desmond's mouth fell open in a silent "Huh?"

"I would go, but my presence is required here by my Jarl. Ah, well. I knew when I took this job it would spell an end to my exploratory days." Farengar set down his crystal playtoy and stood back up. "You had best be off. The sooner I have that Dragonstone, the sooner I can figure out why the dragons are returning."

They gathered back up their heavy armor sets and went out to the main hall. "You know this Black Falls tomb place?" Desmond asked.

"Bleak Falls Barrow." Kayd wrangled the armor into the crook of one arm and held out his free hand. "Give me your map, I'll make a note of the location. It isn't hard to find; just look for the stone archways on-"

"Wait," Desmond interrupted, dropping his armor on a wooden bench. A shriveled old woman sweeping the floor looked up and scowled at the clattering sound, but he didn't pay her any mind. "You mean you're not coming with?"

"You may have no obligations in this world, Desmond, but I cannot spend all **my** time fulfilling orders from a blasted mage!" Kayd said, the words whispered to avoid echoing in the cavernous hall, but still firm.

"You're not gonna help me out on this?"

"I am a Stormcloak, Desmond. Do you understand what that means?"

Desmond indicated "kinda-sorta" by wobbling one hand in the air. "The 'can't help your friends out with stuff' part of it is new to me."

"I've pledged my blade to fight for Ulfric's cause. As such, I must return to Windhelm to receive my next orders. You can handle a few Draugr on your own, can't you? You've survived in Nirn for long enough-"

"What'd'ya mean, 'long enough'?" Desmond interrupted. "I haven't even been here twenty-four fucking hours!"

Kayd's face froze. "What," he said flatly.

"Or however many hours are in you guys' version of a day!"

"What."

"I just got to this stupid universe yesterday afternoon," Desmond said, enunciating slowly and clearly.

Kayd blinked. "You mean.... the Imperials captured you just as you arrived in this realm?"

Desmond shrugged emphatically. "I don't remember getting captured. Alls I remember is touching the Eye, then next thing I know-"

"Touching the what now?"

 _Oh, right._ "Long story, never mind. Point is, the first memory I have of Skyrim is being on that cart with you guys."

"Huh." Kayd's eyes scanned Desmond up and down, re-evaluating him. "Well, this would explain a bit. Such as how you did not even know what an Imperial was."

"Yeah. I also don't know what a Drugger is."

"Draugr," Kayd corrected. "Draugr are undead warriors from eons past, kept animate by foul magicks."

"...Zombies. Right." Desmond clenched the hilt of his sword. "I'm not sure I'm up for this."

"But you are an able fighter. I have seen you in action myself."

"Against one wolf and a few humans, yeah. Not a whole den of magical zombies." Desmond had defeated many huge hordes of Templars in the past, but usually inside the Animus, where failure only meant a retry of that memory, nothing more. The one time he'd faced off alone against multiple enemies in real life, he'd been armed with the awesome power of the Apple. And Templars were mere humans, not goddamn **magical** **zombies**.

Kayd exhaled. "I suppose I can accompany you, then. Mind, I must first send word to Ulfric that I have escaped Helgen unscathed and shall be on my way back when I can."

"Fair enough." Desmond picked back up the armor from the bench. "As for me, I think I'm gonna hock this heavy steel and get a couple more potions, other useful shit instead."

"Hock?"

"Sell."

"Ah."

 

* * *

 

Upon reaching the market square, Kayd pointed Desmond toward the general store. "They'll buy your armor, and any other goods you wish to unload upon them for coin." He shaded his eyes and checked the position of the sun in the sky. It was close to straight overhead, though half-hidden by light gray clouds. "I shall find a courier to send a message to Ulfric, then meet you back at this spot in half an hour. We'll lunch and then be off."

"Got it." Desmond waved and turned toward the store. Inside he was greeted with warmth rolling out from a firepit, and also with the shopkeeper's hearty "Everything's for sale, my friend! Everything! If I had a sister, I'd sell 'er in a second! I'd even buy one of your relatives, if you're looking to sell?"

Desmond immediately disliked this guy, and it must have showed on his face, for the shopkeeper coughed and added weakly, "Ha ha. That's a little joke. Ha. Ahem. Name's Belethor. You just let me know what you need. I am at your beck and call."

Desmond clonked the gifted armor down on the counter. "I'm selling this," he said bluntly, not wanting to get bogged down in small talk.

Belethor turned the steel over, appraising it with raised eyebrow. "Thirty."

"Forty," Desmond countered.

Belethor looked amused. "A haggler, are we?"

"I'm haggling, so yeah. Is forty good?"

"Hah!" Belethor reached out with a sweaty hand and patted Desmond's shoulder. "I like your spunk, kid. You're new in town, right?"

Desmond exhaled. "Yes," he said curtly. "You gonna gimme forty or you gonna make a counter-offer?"

Belethor cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and spoke in a secretive half-whisper. "Word to the wise, kid: Skyrim ain't Cyrodiil. Round these parts, s'mostly Khajiit that haggle."

Desmond made a mental note to ask Kayd what "Kadjeet" were. "So you're not gonna gimme forty."

"Tell you what." Belethor thumped Desmond's shoulder again. "I'll settle for thirty-fi- ahem- thirty-three. Sound like a deal?"

"Whatever." Desmond held out his hand and Belethor counted six five-gold denomination coins into it.

"Need anything else?"

Desmond jingled his hand. "You said thirty-three."

"Oh. I did, didn't I?" Belethor grudgingly admitted, and handed over the remainder. "Now do you need anything else?"

"You got health potions?"

Belethor turned and pulled a little red bottle from a shelf behind him. "Fifty-three a pop."

"Eh. Sorry." Desmond put his money away in his pouch. "I'll come back later."

"Sure! See you round, kid!" Belethor called after him, then under his breath, muttered, "Skinflint Imperial."

Desmond stopped just before opening the door and spun around. "Dammit, I'm not Imperial!"

"Oh, my sincere apologies," Belethor said, sounding the least amount of sincere possible.

"Screw you, man."

"And a pleasure doing business with you, 'man'," Belethor simpered.

Desmond made sure to slam the door on his way out. A guard standing watch nearby turned at the sound and said, "Stay out of trouble, Imperial." There was an audible frown in his voice.

 _Ughh, what the fuck, why is everyone in Skyrim so racist?_ Desmond stomped back to the well where Kayd was meant to meet him and sat down on its edge. A woman poking around the shop stalls caught his eye and smiled at him, then came over and sat beside him. "Having a bad day?"

Desmond sighed. "Kind of. Nowhere near the worst day I've had recently, but I am having some trouble getting used to Skyrim, yeah." He looked the woman over. She had cool porcelain skin with red patches from the sun, and brown-red hair in a straightforward short cut. Desmond thought she looked pretty nice, even with the many noticeable repaired flaws in her rough blue dress. After a moment, he realized he was staring, and looked away, afraid of coming off as a "perverted Imperial" or whatever other weird stereotype. He cleared his throat and tried to continue the conversation. "So, uh, are you from here?"

"I am. And yourself?"

 _Oh great, I walked right into that one, didn't I?_ Desmond mentally kicked himself. "No. I'm, uh... Visiting. From far away."

"What part of Cyrodiil?" the woman asked, intrigued.

Desmond sighed again. "No part. I know I look Imperial, but I'm not."

"High Rock, then?"

"...Sure, whatever." Desmond pulled his hood up to protect his eyes as the sun began blaring out from behind the clouds.

"For how long are you visiting?"

Desmond gritted his teeth. "Don't know exactly. Might end up being quite a while, unfortunately."

"Skyrim's not all that bad." She sounded a little hurt. "It has its ups and downs, certainly, especially nowadays, but I find it pleasant enough."

"Right. Well, it's not where I expected to find myself, is all."

"Oh." They sat in silence for a few minutes before the woman got up. "I have things to take care of. Fare thee well, Breton."

"Desmond."

"Huh?"

Desmond gave her a little smile. "My name. It's Desmond."

"Oh." She smiled back warmly. "I am Ysolda. A pleasure to meet you, Desmond. I hope we meet again." And with that, she went on her way.

 

* * *

 

Desmond was soon bored just sitting waiting for Kayd, so he got up and strolled around the town again. After a few minutes of random ambling, he found himself back at the Drunken Huntsman. _Oh, hey._ He smiled, walked up the steps, and entered the building.

"Hello there, everyone!" he called out, anticipating a rowdy crowd of customers, but there were only a few people there. An elderly man in a fur cloak was nursing a mug by the firepit, and in a side nook sat a thin, pointy-faced woman with slate-gray skin and hide armor. Desmond chuckled nervously at the odd looks they were giving him, and turned to the man behind the counter, presumably the owner of the establishment.

"Hello, friend," the man said, and he sounded much more pleasant than Belethor had. "In the market for some hunting supplies?"

Desmond blinked at him. "Hunting... supplies?"

The man blinked back. "Yes? We have quite a selection. What are you looking for?"

"Uh... I'm looking for work."

"Hm. Try Hulda, the innkeeper at the Bannered Mare." The man gestured forward and to his left. "It's just up the road, near the market."

"Um..." Desmond glanced around the place again. There were cups and bottles on every little table. "This **is** the Drunken Huntsman, right?"

"Indeed. Hagraven or horker, it matters not. We've got the arrows to fell any game," the man said, proud of his slogan.

"Oh. You're... you're not a tavern?"

"We have wine and mead," the man offered weakly. "But we are not a 'tavern' per se. Our main trade is archery goods. See here." He stepped back and gestured to a carved wooden bow hung up on the wall behind him. "Perhaps I might interest you in this Imperial Bow?"

"Uggghh." Desmond threw his head down on the counter. "If I hear the word 'Imperial' one more time I think I'm gonna hurl."

The shopkeeper's leathery forehead wrinkled. "Erm... I meant no offense, good sir."

Desmond straightened up. "No big. I mean, it's all right. I just... What else've you got?"

The man bent down and got another bow out from under the counter. "Perhaps this standard long bow is more your style."

Desmond ran his fingers over the smooth oak. It was much more simply made than the one on the wall, and looked cheap and shoddy. Notably, it lacked the rope wound around the grip he remembered Connor's bow having. He picked it up and assumed an aiming stance. Yes, this was a crap-ass bow, he soon decided, and handed it back to the shopkeeper. "Sorry, not interested. But you sell wine and mead?"

"Yes." The man put away the long bow and rummaged around under the counter some more. "I have an Alto and a Honningbrew... somewhere..."

Desmond leaned over the counter. "I'm not looking to buy drinks. I'm looking to serve them."

The man looked up at him quizzically.

"So, are you hiring? I've got experience."

"I believe I've got it under control on my own. And... pardon me, but what 'experience' is really necessary?"

Desmond gave a half-shrug. "Y'know. Mixing up drinks, breaking up fights, cleaning up spills. Whatever you need, I'm game."

The man stood back up. "Mixing?" he repeated, utterly baffled. "This is... not a brewery, good sir."

Desmond's pupils dilated and his fingers twitched. _The concept of a 'mixed drink' doesn't exist here? Holy shit, wait, scratch that! It doesn't exist **yet**._ He cracked a scarily wide smile. "Well... if you're interested in maybe expanding the alcohol side of your business... I've got some ideas."

"Ideas." The man folded his arms. "Such as?"

Desmond opened his mouth, then closed it again. _Holy hell. In this situation, 'how to mix a martini' is legitimately a rare skill! Can't just give this shit away free!_ "Uh. Certain drinks, when combined with certain other drinks, can... taste really good. I'll give you some recipes. For a price."

"Recipes? What are you, an alchemist?"

"No, just a bartender."

"A what?"

"Elrindir," a cool voice came from behind Desmond. "is this s'wit wasting your time?" He turned to see the thin gray woman right behind him, twirling a dagger menacingly.

A vision flashed into Desmond's mind, of how easily she could have stabbed him, ended his life right then and there, and he had the sudden urge to grab her wrist, disarm her, and use that same dagger to take her out in an instant. He shuddered. _Oh god, what the fuck?! Crazy Assassin instincts!_ "Um. Sorry. I think... I think I should go."

They all stared after the strange man as he hastily left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agh, I'm sorry, this chapter took forever. I promise there'll be some actual action stuff in the next one.


	14. Bleak Thoughts

Desmond rushed down the street, his sight blurring gray around the edges. _Shit, is my Eagle Vision turning on by itself?_ A guard came into view and was tinged red. _Shit, it really is._ Desmond shook his head to try and clear it, but to no avail. _Shit shit shit, this isn't good. My brain is utterly fucked._

He screeched to a halt back at the well and pulled up a bucket of water. Splashing it over his face had a calming effect, bringing him back to himself and cranking the world around him back into its usual coloration. He leaned over the well's edge, trying to steady his frantic breathing.

He couldn't believe the violent urge that had welled up inside him, just from being startled by someone with a weapon. The last time it'd happened, when Shaun had accidentally tripped and come flying at him with a knife and fork, his defensive reflex had nearly broken the historian's glasses. The other Assassins did forgive him for this, citing the Bleeding Effect, but if it happened here in Skyrim, that excuse wouldn't be recognized.

 _Is it really even the Bleeding Effect?_ he wondered, wiping a damp hand over his hair. _Or am I just getting overly jumpy and paranoid?_

"All right there, Desmond?"

He straightened up and turned around, trying to hide the unease he felt. "Yeah, Kayd. I'm fine."

Kayd tilted his head, his mouth a thin skeptical line. "You seem a bit shaky."

"Well, I-" Desmond cleared his throat and stepped forward, lowering his voice so no bystanders could hear their conversation. "I'm still getting used to this world, I guess."

“Ah. Foreigners often say that they find Skyrim a strange place. This strangeness must be magnified ten times over for someone as foreign as yourself.”

Desmond nodded. “Hell, just dealing with everything going on back home was pretty difficult at times. And now I'm here...” He glanced around the town square, up into the sky and across the horizon. "...forever, maybe."

Kayd was silent a moment, fingering his axe handle, then... “What say we go hunt our lunch?” He put on a bright smile. “A sated man's happier than a hungry one, no matter what realm he's from.”

 

* * *

 

They spotted a couple deer out on the rugged plains west of Whiterun, but utterly failed in hunting them, for the animals were quite keen of ear, and galloped away whenever either man tried to sneak in for the kill. Desmond wished to hell he'd had enough money for a bow and some arrows. "Dammit, I'm a good sneaker! How do these friggin' deer keep detecting me?"

"A shame there are no large trees about here," Kayd lamented. "One of your 'air assassinations' would do the trick, I bet."

"Yeah, that's what I usually did when I was hunting as Conn- um, when I went hunting back on my world. Way faster than setting a snare and waiting around." Desmond sighed and adjusted the strap on his knapsack. "Man, I can just hear my dad's voice now: 'Patience, son, patience. The fastest way isn't always the best.'"

In the end, they opted for less fleet-footed prey: an ugly grey-brown thing that scuttled along a meandering brook, almost, but not quite blending into the mud and rocks. They upended it over a quick campfire and soon it was cooked in its own shell.

As they munched on mudcrab, Kayd said, “Perhaps the mage of Dragonsreach can magic you back home, once we've done him this favor.”

“Ya think so?” Desmond hadn't considered this possibility. He wasn't sure what all this place's magic was capable of. Hell, the very concept of “magic” was still new to him. He thought about his potion-healed muscles, that disappearing book in Helgen, the enchanted rings Kayd had spoken of before. All those were things of wonder, sure, but they were a far cry away from a 'Voip Back To Earth' spell.

“If he cannot, then you should make the College of Winterhold your next destination.”

“College?” Desmond quirked an eyebrow. “Do they offer, like, a master's in dimensional travel?”

Kayd looked similarly confused, but managed to reply, “A Master of Alteration perhaps could do it.”

“Uh, are we talking about the same thing? In my world a 'college' is a... place of advanced learning.”

“It is the same thing, then. The most knowledgeable mages study and teach at Winterhold.”

“Oh, it's a magic school.” Desmond tried not to think of Harry Potter. “Yeah, that sounds promising. I mean, if they're not too busy freaking out about that dragon heralding the End Times, then... Oh.” He dropped his head into his hands.

“Oh?”

“End Times.” Desmond laughed bitterly. “Just reminded myself of... what happened in my world.”

“Oh... In your world, you died,” Kayd recalled, the words slow and somber.

“Yeah. A sacrifice to save everybody else. But maybe...” Desmond turned over his right arm, inspecting it. Same as ever since he'd found himself in Skyrim, the skin showed no trace of the Eye's searing heat. “Maybe I didn't die? Maybe Minerva did something, sent me here so Juno wouldn't get out."

These names were of course unknown to Kayd. “Who are they?”

Desmond was more talking to himself now, though. "But if Juno didn't get out, then the thingy didn't activate and that means- **shit**.” He felt a choking pain in his chest at the possibility that his homeworld might have been burned to a crisp by the solar cataclysm. "Fucking **fuck**." Had all his and his teammates' work been for nothing? He shook his head. "But no, I definitely remember this arm felt like it was getting burnt up. Maybe... maybe that wasn't really me? Maybe I'm... a clone or something? Shit, man.”

"What is a 'clone'?"

Desmond looked up. "Like, a copy of a person. A duplicate." He scratched his head. "I dunno. I don't feel... clone-ey. Not that I know what that would feel like, though. Maybe my arm just got magically healed?"

"Perhaps the only way to know for sure is to return home," Kayd suggested. "Ask this Minerva herself if she... interfered in your death?"

Desmond snorted. "Assuming she'd even give me a straight answer, and not just spout some cryptic Precursor bullcrap. But hey, she was at least more understandable than Juno."

Kayd tossed away the remains of his mudcrab claw, and they splashed into the brook. "Who are these... women?"

"I guess you can call 'em women." Desmond discarded the last inedible bits from his meal as well. "They pretended they were gods." He was thinking on how further to explain when he noticed Kayd looked suddenly upset. "What?"

"Do you perhaps mean they are former humans ascended to godhood?" Kayd said, his tone stiff and meaningful.

"Wait, what? They weren't ever humans; they're a completely different race. And not gods, 'cause they're definitely mortal. Powerful, but mortal."

"Oh." Kayd relaxed noticeably. "All right."

Desmond wondered what sort of nerve he'd nearly struck, but decided to maybe bring it up another time. "Anyway, their race- they're called Precursors, or the First Civilization- they were like the rulers of the world back a million years ago. But humans rebelled against them, so there was a big war, and then most of 'em died in a fiery cataclysm, but apparently there's a few still hanging around. Or maybe just their consciousnesses, their spirits or something." He shrugged. "I don't understand the whole situation myself, honestly."

"Hm." Kayd nodded. "They are your world's equivalent of Daedra, perhaps?"

Desmond shrugged again. "You'd have to explain what those are."

"I fear I could not explain their nature properly. They are... mysterious and powerful beings. Worshipped by some, but most definitely not Divine."

A silence fell then, a lull in the conversation. Desmond thought about bringing up the subject of those Standing Stones and how eerily reminiscent of Precursor relics they were.

But just as he was forming the thought into words, Kayd looked up at the sky. "We ought to get moving if we're to make it to Bleak Falls Barrow before nightfall."

Sure enough, the sun was well on its way downward from high noon. Desmond stood and kicked dirt over the campfire, and tried not to let the dying embers remind him of home.

 

* * *

 

The journey over rocky rolling hills was rather uneventful from there. To pass the time, Kayd eventually started up talking to Desmond again. "So, what is it like, your world?"

"It's.... Hm." He threw back his hood and scratched his head. "Yeesh, where do I start? It's way different than this one, I'll say. The main difference is there's lots more technology."

“What are… tekna lajee?” Kayd split the word in two when he said it, the same way he’d done with “Brook Lin”.

“Technology is, like... Machines. Devices. Contraptions."

Kayd nodded. "These words I recognize, but that doesn't tell me much. What manner of devices?"

"All manner. Like, for example... you know lightning, right?"

Kayd gave a tiny smile. "Yes, we have lightning in this world as well."

"Well, the machines are powered by lightning, and they do all sorts of stuff. For example, instead of horses and carts, we have wheeled machines that transport people and things on the roads.” Desmond shook his head. “Wait, no. The wheeled machines run off fire, for the most part, not lightning. But actually, they're starting to make new ones that run on lightning instead, because of the environment."

"Because of the... environment," Kayd repeated, clearly not comprehending.

"Yeah, because the fire-machines make a lot of smoke."

"Fire will do that," Kayd said with a smile.

"Yeah, but it's bad for the air. And with millions and billions of people, pollution is a big deal."

"Billions?"

"Thousands of millions."

Kayd rubbed his head.

Desmond didn't even give him a second to process this, for he was on a roll with the next thing already. "Oh, and I bet you guys have to write letters for communication, right? Well, we have little machines called 'phones', and you just talk into the phone, like talking to a person that's right there, but they could be on the other side of the planet; as long as they have a phone too, they can hear you."

Kayd's eyes had become unfocused as he pondered this concept.

"And the phones can do other stuff too," Desmond elaborated. "They can store music and books and games and all sorts'a stuff."

"I cannot begin to imagine," Kayd said, then nearly tripped over an exposed tree root in his absentmindedness before catching himself. "These 'phones'... What do they look like?"

"A little flat metal box, about yea big." Desmond formed two L shapes with his thumbs and index fingers and outlined a rectangle in the air.

Kayd stared through the emptiness between those fingers.

"I mean, some phones are bigger or smaller, but this is about the standard size... Also there's no magic."

Kayd stopped walking. "How's that?" he asked incredulously.

Desmond turned back to face him. "We don't have magic in my world."

"Surely you jest. This 'phone' you speak of is quite clearly a magical device."

Desmond shrugged. "I know, it sure sounds like magic, but I'm pretty sure it's not. Just, um, computer chips and wires and stuff."

"Comm pitter chips," Kayd repeated, scratching his head. "Your world sounds quite bizarre."

Desmond smiled and shrugged again. "It is pretty bizarre a lot of the time. But in some ways, it's not that different then this place." He spun in a half-circle with one arm outstretched, indicating the flora around them, and started walking again. "For example, it seems most of your plants and animals are similar, and we understand each other's language near perfectly."

Kayd stepped up beside him. "If your plants are similar, then your world does indeed have magic."

Desmond cocked his head and gave him a doubtful look. "We don't have those glowy hummy weed things."

Kayd grinned. "Nirnroot are not the sole source of magic in the bounty of nature." Without pausing a beat in his walking pace, he bent down and snapped a cornflower blue blossom from a bush as they passed it. "Blue mountain flower."

"Flowers are magic now?" Desmond stared at the thing. "It looks pretty damn normal to me."

"Ah, but when you eat it..." -Kayd plucked a couple petals off, popped them in his mouth, and chewed briefly- "...it restores your vitality. A health potion is not always at hand, you see."

Desmond gaped. "You are punking me," he declared, jabbing a finger at Kayd. "I know you guys don't have reality TV or Ashton Kutcher, but I fucking know when I am being punk'd!"

Kayd was understandably thrown by the reference, but he didn't question it, just held the flower to Desmond's face.

"Sorry, but in my world flowers aren't for eating. They're for romance. You look like you're trying to, uh, court me."

"Lovers court with flowers here as well," Kayd said, tucking the flower away in a pocket, "but it is still good to make note of their magical properties. Some grant immunity to poisons for a short while, or resistance to foul magicks. The bounty of Mara is all around us for those who would acknowledge her blessings."

"Mn," Desmond said. "So... Mara is you guys' God?"

"She is the Mother-Goddess."

"Oh. Is there a Father God?" Desmond asked, feeling oddly awkward. It was important to get up to speed on the culture of this world, he figured, but he didn't really have experience conversing about gods and other religious matters. His upbringing had been mostly secular; though there were some religious Assassins on the Farm, those had been a minority. _Plus the whole business of the Templars being historically aligned with church interests. But then again that was Christianity,_ he reminded himself. _Whatever religion Kayd follows is clearly gonna be a whole different animal._

"Father-God? There is none titled as such, but if you mean the chiefest among the Divines, that would be Akatosh." Kayd grinned again. "Mind you, Talos is a close second."

"So there's lots of gods?"

"There are nine Divines. Though the Elves will say eight, as they detest Talos."

"Nine?" Desmond whistled. "Most people back home just worship one god."

"Billions of people, but only one god." Kayd scratched his head. "And a complete lack of magic. You're sure? There are no mages, no spellbooks, no plants with mystic properties?"

"Well... I guess some plants are used for medicine back on Earth," Desmond conceded, "but they're like, mixed up into pills first; we don't just eat them straight out the ground."

"Alchemy, then?"

"Nope. Chemistry. It's not magic."

Kayd shook his head and looked forward into the distance. "Perhaps your world's magic is just... different than ours. A world without any magic at all is hard to fathom."

"Well... I did run across some pretty fantastical stuff. Maybe you're right."

The landscape was growing colder and rockier as they went along the mountain path. Desmond glanced over the edge and saw they were already quite far from the flat plains of Whiterun.

"Not afraid of heights, I hope?" Kayd asked.

Desmond laughed. "Nah, not at all. This is like nothing."

In the distance loomed a stony structure. It loomed larger and larger with every yard closer they got to it. A thick mist of snow dusted everything, and the wind tossed it around like fog, making the whole landscape supremely stunning.

Desmond pulled his hood tighter over his face to try and block the powdery cold. "This is it, huh? One of the most badass-looking tombs I've ever seen." He slowed down and looked around. There was an ominous echo about the place, and the eerie sound was compounded by the usual rush of whispering static when he switched into Eagle Vision. A couple blots of red were visible milling around outside the barrow entrance. "Careful. We got enemies," he said quietly.

"Bandits," Kayd spat under his breath. "Here to plunder these hallowed halls for profit."

"That's not nice of them."

"Indeed not."

"The dead should rest in peace." Just saying the words reminded Desmond of Ezio, filled him with fighting spirit and remembrances of taking down thugs with ease and aplomb. For the moment, he could forget about his old home, about Precursors and prophesies. He unsheathed his sword and shot Kayd a grin. "What say we teach 'em a lesson?"

The Redguard already had his axe out and ready. "Gladly. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, sorry, I promised action and didn't come through. We've got some coming up though!


End file.
